


Take Us Back, Take Us Home

by eternalDipshit



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Ending, Angst, Fluff, Gen, Humor, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Internalized Homophobia, Minor OOCness probably, Panic Attacks, Past Abuse, Pesterlog(s) (Homestuck), Post-Sburb (Homestuck), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Drama, Strider Feels, and angrily and emphatically ignore the epilogues, because of my inability to write intelligent people due to my being a Fucking Idiot, i will give these kids the happy ending they deserve so help me god, literally so many, this is basically a self-indulgent piece of shit, where i attempt to work through dirk's and dave's issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-12
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:08:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 71,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21755032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eternalDipshit/pseuds/eternalDipshit
Summary: TG: why does it feel like im missing something hugeTG: likeTG: i feel like how id imagine id feel like after getting hit by a bus and losing all my memories of the past like three yearsTG: except i have all these memories anywayEB: …TG: but they dont feel realTG: they feel like falsifications of reality just there to cushion the wads of empty space left while im lying in a fucking comaTG: they feel like gross coma lie memories johnTG: do you feel me
Relationships: Dave Strider & Dirk Strider, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 44
Kudos: 149





	1. Clockwork Sorrow

**Author's Note:**

> idk how to write summaries. 
> 
> this is unbeta'd and started as spiteful catharsis after i finally finished homestuck and fucking hated the ending. it is very self-indulgent, moves very slowly, and there WILL BE many a purposeless pesterlog in this because who's going to stop me? that's right, no one. i am a limitless pile of flaming garbage hurtling towards the earth and no one will stop my downward spiral i am taking you all down with me. 
> 
> also i love the striders
> 
> that is all
> 
> wait no there's something else. this was partially inspired by 'so it goes' by TGP god fucking bless that fic so if this seems similar sometimes it's bc i adore it

**Tick.**

You’re in a world of impenetrable blackness, cold and empty and seemingly limitless.

**Tock.**

You are alone, floating through the void, only half-aware.

It’s strangely… relaxing. You think that maybe you should be more concerned about your current state of near-nonexistence. But no, your mind is more at ease than it has been in years. You’re relieved. You’re comforted. You’re _happy._

And hasn’t that always been a loaded word for you?

**Tick.**

Your sense of self wisps through your fingers like smoke, but you make no effort to collect it. There is something to be said of simply existing in a perpetual state of warm feelings, and you’re not interested in letting it end anytime soon.

Although there is something far, far in the back of your mind, a thrice-smothered urgency that holds no meaning to you.

You continue to drift in the abyss.

**Tock.**

Eventually, you pull at the strand of self-awareness linked to a slow-burning stress. It’s trying to tell you something and you can tell it’s important.

A light catches your attention and you blink your half-open eyes.

There is a tiny, pinprick of light blue in the distance.

**Tick.**

It’s familiar to you, but much like everything else, its familiarity is only a vague sense of knowing, like a dream you forgot long ago.

**Tock.**

Voices start to drift around you, rising and falling like the tide. They sound jubilant, they sound excited, they leave you feeling warm and content.

**Tick.**

One voice rises above the others, and this one you recognize just as well as any. A smile stretches your face at the sound of it, a feeling of victory and relief and bone-deep elation washes over you.

**Tock.**

You can’t make out what the voice is saying, it’s too far away and muffled, like you’re underwater.

The feeling nags at you.

You need to hear what the voice is saying.

**Tick.**

You try to move.

**Tock.**

You can’t.

**Tick.**

You struggle harder, the sense of urgency getting stronger with each passing tick of your clock.

The blue dot isn’t any closer.

The voices are drifting away.

There’s something wrong happening. Something you need to stop. You need to call the voices back, but you can’t even hear them anymore. You open your mouth and no sound comes out.

**Tock.**

You wake up.

**Dave: Wake up.**

Bitch, what did you _just_ say?

You’re already awake, standing in the middle of your room with a sword in your hand, panting quietly while the sheet you use as a blanket drifts to the floor. You do a quick sweep of the room with your eyes, straining your ears for any sign of Bro. When there is none, you relax a little, falling back on the bed, dropping the sword, and taking time to stare down at your shaking fingers. You raise them to watch them vibrate with detached fascination, and realize that you feel… empty, like you’re a few critical pieces short of a full Dave Strider.

_Tick. Tock._

You blame that whole existential crisis nightmare you just experienced and move on.

It’s around noon and it’s sweltering. Your AC unit must be busted again. Sweat coats you like a thin, protective layer of disgusting fear juices. Your hair clings to your forehead and you brush it away with a small scowl.

You need a shower.

You fucking hate nightmares.

The more annoying part is that it didn’t even feel like one at first, but as per usual, your brain decided to psyche you out with a possible pleasant experience before positively fucking you raw.

You spend an inordinate amount of time glaring at your legs because for some reason, without the stab of adrenaline, your whole body feels weak like you’ve just gone through a particularly vicious bout of the flu. Or like you had your ass handed to you thrice-diced by your beloved Bro. Either or.

Except you remember neither of those things happening yesterday.

In fact, you don’t remember yesterday happening at all.

Panic seizes your throat at that realization and you frown, tamping it down and focusing harder.

No. You remember.

You talked to John about the birthday present you sent him – a National Treasure boxset, but obviously he didn’t know that yet, unless the mail already came for him today. You talked to Jade about mixing a track together. You worked on a SBaHJ comic. Your Bro left around midnight for a gig and you fell asleep a few hours after.

_Tick. Tock._

But… you don’t remember doing any of that.

You remember it happening, but not doing it, and what the fuck are you even talking about right now Jesus Christ. That dream must have fucked you up more than you thought. You push a hand through your grody hair and then scrub at it viciously. It is way too early for this shit.

You get up to take a shower.

**Dave: Commence ablutions.**

Weird way to put it, but sure.

You go about your day on auto-pilot, avoiding going into the living room where you know your Bro is probably sleeping. You move from one menial task to another, unable to shake the feeling of _lack._ You keep getting weird senses of _wrong_ \- like the feeling that you haven’t been here in years, despite knowing you’ve lived here your whole life _._ But as soon as that thought occurs to you, a counter-thought will pop up and say something along the lines of ‘but you haven’t’ even if there is no evidence to support it other than gut instinct and what the _fuck_ is up with that ticking in your head?

_Tick. Tock._

Yeah, that one.

The thoughts that aren’t yours but are and the memories that aren’t yours but _are_ and that _fucking goddamn stupid nightmare_ are making this day shape up to be something incredible. Incredibly fucking dumb. You can’t wait to see what other mind-numbingly insanity-inducing things are in store for you. Maybe your computer will BSOD, maybe your AJ will run out, maybe your Bro will kick you down another flight of stairs – who knows!

_Tick. Tock._

You can’t fucking _wait._

Until then, you’re going to distract yourself. You mix music, draw shitty art, surf the web, eat an entire bag of Doritos from your closet stockpile, and generally just do your best to not think until you see your buddy come online.

You wonder how he’d feel if he found out you’re finally losing your goddamn marbles on his birthday.

You figure he would not be very happy about it.

Good thing he’s about as observant as a security camera with a blanket thrown over it.

**Dave: Pester John already.**

\-- **turntechGodhead [TG]** began pestering **ectoBiologist [EB]** at 16:13 --

**TG: bro**

**TG: dude**

**TG: man**

**TG: pal**

**TG: buddy**

**TG: what are you doing**

**TG: i know for a fact that your doofy ass aint doing anything else but sitting on your doofy ass watching doofy ass movies**

**TG: look at that man**

**TG: look what you made me do**

**TG: thats three goddamn doofy asses in one goddamn sentence**

**TG: thats how doofy your ass is man**

**TG: stamped in triplicate**

**TG: your identity is confirmed bitch**

**TG: the nra never gonna be able to doubt this mans integrity as a us citizen of doof assery**

**TG: shits so filed and official people dont even think to question the words doofy ass on a real document formally naming you as the actual monarch of doofy asses**

**TG: if monarchs were a thing in our democratic society**

**TG: which they are not**

**TG: im not even sure what the nra is now that i think about it**

**TG: im sure it stands for something**

**TG: something like ‘no rose allowed’ hahaha dude thats funny ima drop that on rose sometime just to make her angry**

**TG: about how dumb that is**

**TG: jk thats a fucking awful idea**

**TG: anyway**

**TG: what the fuck are you doing egbert**

**TG: i mean im completely down with just chatting myself up over here all day like you have no idea**

**TG: some prime self-loving has happened in the void of pesterchum when all my friends are off doing whatever the hell it is normal kids do**

**TG: yknow when theyre not scared shitless to leave their rooms and be met with an absolute reckoning of puppet dong**

**TG: not that im scared shitless or anything because im a strider and the only thing that scares me is communism**

**TG: and possibly mr. rogers**

**TG: that fucker was hiding something i could tell**

**TG: but anyway im not scared shitless and puppets are awesome so all of that was about someone who is not me**

**TG: what was i even talking about**

**TG: oh right**

**TG: getting my mad self-talk on**

**TG: a veritable strider circle-jerk consisting of me and also me**

**TG: talk all about myself to myself**

**TG: about how much of a goddamn awesome dude i am**

**TG: except acknowledging it would make me a lot less fuckin awesome so scratch that**

**TG: just kidding i transcend all known values of what all can make a dude uncool**

**TG: because the simple answer to that is that there is nothing that could ever happen or that i could ever say or do to even make me marginally less cool than i currently am**

**TG: i am the max value on the y line that all plebs strive towards**

**TG: sitting on my arrow throne watching the rabble doing their damndest to even brush my delicate pale wiggling toes**

**TG: but fuckers so far away i gotta squint into the abyss to even catch sight of one**

**TG: mostly i just listen to them whining like little piss babies about how spectacularly uncool they all are**

**TG: they wish they could suck these beautiful manly toes**

**TG: not that id want them to because that would be gross**

**TG: but maybe i would allow them a single lick to the useless pinky toe**

**TG: since were supposed to be evolving without that shit at some point anyway**

**TG: according to some bullshit studies that no one cares about**

**TG: then id cut that little fucker off and kick lil jimmy off the peak**

**TG: sorry lil jimmy there can only be one**

**TG: then i catch the pinky toe and put that shit in a jar as a memento to my neverending cool factor**

**TG: just keep somehow raising the bar**

**TG: without pinky toes i would just be ahead of the evolutionary fuckfest by like a thousand years and if that aint the coolest fucking thing anyones ever done i dont know what is**

**TG: anyway where the fuck are you**

**TG: im getting the weird feeling that im rehashing shit ive said before and its making me lose a bit of my truly unprecedented amount of chill**

**EB: hahahaha oh my god!**

**EB: honestly i got back a while ago and was just seeing how far you’d take it.**

**EB: i was not disappointed!**

**TG: youre welcome**

**TG: for your constant front stage pass to the strider one man jam fest**

**TG: in which i make the most asinine statements for as long as possible and people throw bucketloads of money at me for no discernible reason other than what is undoubtedly self-hatred and a clear disregard for frugality but shit im not gonna complain**

**TG: also**

**TG: happy birthday**

**EB: lol.**

**EB: thanks!**

**EB: but i was just getting into it, cmon!**

**EB: i haven’t thrown my hard-earned money at you yet! you gotta keep going!!**

**TG: you should throw your money at me regardless**

**TG: gotta make it worth my while**

**TG: otherwise im moving on to the next venue of gullible richfolk with hardons for almost-legal pretty boy teens**

**TG: ugh**

**EB: ugh?**

**TG: yeah ugh**

**EB: why ugh?**

**TG: ugh as in the longer this goes on the worse the dejavu bullshit gets**

**TG: dejavu is always the most bullshittiest exercise in fuckoffs**

**TG: its never even anything relevant that youre remembering not remembering**

**TG: its just some bullshit about being a stripper for your best bros enjoyment**

**EB: hahaha whoa wait what?**

**EB: that is not what i got from that!**

**TG: well you wouldnt**

**TG: havent even ripped my shirt off yet for you to get a load of my ripped pubescent chest**

**EB: gross!**

**TG: dont hate on the strider pecs bro uncool**

**EB: you can’t make me like your moobs no matter how hard you try, dave, give it up!**

**EB: haha anyway.**

**EB: didn’t you message me for a reason?**

**TG: yeah**

**TG: was gonna ask if my shit came in the mail yet for you**

**EB: i don’t think so! my dad didn’t mention anything.**

**EB: and i didn’t see anything when i went downstairs earlier.**

**TG: cool**

**TG: i guess**

**TG: what**

**EB: huh?**

**TG: i just**

**TG: theres something wrong**

**EB: what’s wrong?**

**EB: are you ok?**

**TG: yeah**

**TG: i think**

**TG: i dont know**

**TG: i just**

**TG: i dont remember sending that package**

**EB: lol dave.**

**EB: if you didn’t send it then of course it wouldn’t be here, dumbass!**

**EB: i’m beginning to suspect that you aren’t as cool as you think you are, mr. dubiously coolbro strider!!!**

**TG: ok your nerdy fuckin diatribes aside**

**TG: i remember it happening but i dont remember doing it**

**TG: does that make sense**

**EB: umm…**

**EB: not at all!**

**TG: yeah of course it fucking doesnt**

**TG: maybe i should message rose about this**

**EB: that sounds like a good idea.**

**TG: no wait**

**TG: why would i do that**

**EB: um…**

**TG: all this inane psychobabble is practically what gets her rocks off**

**TG: why would i ever in a million years want to willingly feed into that bullshit trauma-hungry wench**

**TG: and yet im feeling strangely compelled to do it anyway**

**TG: regardless of what a dumb fucking idea it is**

**EB: dave?**

**TG: and thats not the only thing**

**TG: why does it feel like im missing something huge**

**TG: like**

**TG: i feel like how id imagine id feel like after getting hit by a bus and losing all my memories of the past like three years**

**TG: except i have all these memories anyway**

**EB: …**

**TG: but they dont feel real**

**TG: they feel like falsifications of reality just there to cushion the wads of empty space left while im lying in a fucking coma**

**TG: they feel like gross coma lie memories john**

**TG: do you feel me**

**EB: um!**

**TG: fuck**

**EB: what??**

**TG: i just heard a noise**

**TG: bro is doing something**

**TG: brb**

**EB: wait!**

**\--** **turntechGodhead [TG]** **ceased pestering** **ectoBiologist [EB]** **at 16:52 --**

**EB: shit.**

**Be Dave.**

You were already being Dave, but okay. You decide to take pity on the author and her incomprehensible wiles that only ever lead to awful jokes.

Ahem.

Your name is DAVE STRIDER.

First and most importantly, you are COOL. EXTREMELY COOL. Just THE MOST AWESOME DUDE IMAGINABLE and no amount of WEIRD PSEUDOTHERAPY from your SISTER will CONVINCE YOU OTHERWISE.

Wait, did you say sister?

You meant friend.

Thank fuck Rose isn’t here to catch that slip, she’d have a fucking field day. It’d be a whole ass romp in the field of notebooks that she’s filled with recordings of your fucked-up psyche. She’d lay a damn picnic down in the field, pat the blanket next to her all inviting, then discuss _what it all means_ when you make constant sexual innuendos at someone right before referring to them as your sister.

…

You are currently IN YOUR ROOM where you were previously MESSAGING YOUR BEST BRO before you heard your ACTUAL BRO start swearing after a LOUD CRASH from what sounds like the LIVING ROOM.

You are DAVE STRIDER and you are FREAKING THE FUCK OUT.

Not solely due to the fact that the only time you’ve ever heard Bro so pissed off is when he’s either drunk or… nope, only when he’s drunk. Every other time he’s pissed off, which you’re pretty sure is always, he’s just silently pissed off. The loud, sober swearing is a new and different kind of terrifying, in that you have no idea what it means besides maybe multiple, painful strifes in your impending future.

Not that you’re scared, of course. Striders don’t feel fear.

They do, however, feel discombobulated. Especially when their quasi-abusive Bro just screamed ‘FUCK’ from the other room when he is most definitely sober and you, for some reason, have no memory of the past three years and _god dammit_ you were trying not to think about it.

The coma lie memories part is probably definitely more terrifying – or it would be, if you had the capacity to feel even an iota of fear.

You “remember” everything, sure. You remember idle chats with friends, an unremarkable few birthdays, the usual beatdowns from your Bro, mixing music… But it’s all almost… nondescript to an eerie extent. There is no specific or out-of-ordinary thing you can call to mind about the past few years. Everything seemed far too… normal. Static. As if someone took a canvas of your life and just… filled in the blank spaces with what they thought fit best.

You remember making a sandwich yesterday as quietly as possible while your Bro snoozed on the futon, but you have no memory of what it was made of. You don’t remember the taste. Hell, you don’t even remember actually _doing_ it, if that even makes sense (it doesn’t).

It’s not even just some weird existential crisis from the nightmare either. There is something in every fiber of your being that is just whispering _wrong no wrong no_ over and over again and it sounds like the ticking of a clock, which you think should be significant but you can’t think _why_.

The absolute worst part of it all though, hands fucking down, is that ever since you woke up this morning from that godawful mindfuck, you’ve felt like half of you is missing. It's like someone came in overnight and just tore out half of what makes you who you are and now…

Now you have no idea what any of it means.

The longer you think about it, the more your head hurts, and the more backwards your thinking gets until you can’t think anything except ‘I remember everything but I don’t remember anything’ and isn’t _that_ the most bass ackwards thing anyone’s ever done thought. Rose would _definitely_ have a field day with that and why do you keep having weird brotherly thoughts towards Rose? Didn’t you have some strange sort of not-crush thing going on that manifested itself in antagonizing, incredibly embarrassing, kind of sexual chats? Why does even the mere thought of that make you want to gag now?

You hear Bro curse again - or maybe not a curse, but some sort of exhalation just occurred that you couldn’t really make out through the closed door. Hell, a normal person probably never would have picked it out through all the ambient noise of city life in an apartment building, but your ears are a fine-tuned instrument and the notes are Bro’s movements. That analogy didn’t make sense, but whatever, you’re Strider-discombobulated. Discomstriderlated.

Damn are you glad no one can hear your thoughts.

Anyway, you’ve never heard _that_ sort of sound out of Bro, not even when you’re able to land a glancing blow on him during strifes. The man may as well be a goddamned mute with how much he verbalizes.

It’s probably, as always, some sort of test or trap. Still, you’d rather get the shit kicked out of you right now then deal with whatever the fuck your brain is doing, screaming at you like some sort of scorned she-witch. It’s rare that you actively seek confrontation with your Bro, and by rare you mean you’ve never done it. Usually, he kicks your ass enough that you never _have_ to seek him out even if you _wanted_ to… which you… guess is considerate?

You should really stop defending all his bullshit. He’s fucking abusive.

…

And where did _that_ come from?

You go and retrieve the shitty sword you’d dropped next to your bed earlier.

Less thinky winky more strifey wifey.

You tense while you inch towards the door, sword in hand. You have years of practice keeping yourself as light-footed and silent as possible. Hell, you’re so acquainted with doors and the many ways of making them as noiseless as fucking possible that it’s—

Sad. It’s fucking sad, is what it is. You don’t even have a doorknob. You removed it yourself because those fuckers are _noisy_ , and not even worth it. If Bro wanted in your room, it ain’t like a _lock_ would stop him. You’re actually 90% sure he uses the air vents somehow, but you really don’t wanna know.

You stuffed a wad of socks in the hole to maintain some sort of semblance of privacy, and honestly what else are socks good for besides stuffing in vacant doorknob holes? If they have another purpose, you damn well don’t know what it is.

Especially considering how many extra pairs of socks you own. Bro makes it a point to get you a pair for every holiday, for the irony. Obviously, it’s hilarious. Your Bro is hilarious and the king of irony and definitely, in no way, abusive. You have no idea why that thought has even crossed your mind twice, possibly even thrice now! Haha!

Fuck.

Today fucking sucks.

You pull open the door as slow as humanly possible, even though Bro is making a veritable _shitton_ of noise, by his standards. He’s mumbling to himself, muffled by the thin walls between you, not even bothering to keep it down, and now you’re starting to rethink this because maybe the dude’s finally fucking cracked. Who knows? Maybe insanity is fucking catching in the Strider household. Maybe this’ll finally be the day he just snaps and kills you.

What? What are you saying? Bro would never do that. Bro’s a dude. A guy. A real one. He would never intentionally harm you if it wasn’t for the specific purpose of making you even cooler, like him. You lied about being at the top of the arrow. That’s actually Bro. You are the one doing the toe sucking and ew ew ew gross gross stop that train of thought immediately.

Once your door is open fully, you tiptoe down the hallway with sword grasped in both hands, on high alert as you approach the closed door to the living room. You glare at the doorknob, wishing you worked up the nerve to remove it before this. Fucking loud ass doorknobs.

You take extra care to go molasses levels of slow turning the stupid handle, sword switched to one hand and ears straining for any movement from Bro.

The door is open far enough now that you can make out his shape, hunched over slightly on the futon and—

The first thing you notice is the flyaway anime hair.

He’s not wearing his hat. You can see the pointy edges of his shades, but the signature hat is nowhere to be found. The only time you’ve seen the dude without it is after showers, and even then, rarely.

But—that’s not even the weirdest shit what the _fuck._

In your shock, you swing the door open wider, and Bro (Not-Bro?) doesn’t make any indication that he’s aware of your presence.

Okay, the dude is clearly your Bro, but he’s not. He’s—he’s—

He’s _small._

His shoulders aren’t nearly as broad, his arms are half their usual size, and from your fairly shit vantage point he seems to be missing quite a few inches from his height. Not to even _mention_ the hints of baby fat you spy in his cheeks from the side profile, and the fact that he’s actually _frowning_. He’s _emoting_ , for fuck’s sake. The world has got to be ending. You’re pretty sure you’re having an aneurysm.

There’s something flickering on his glasses, some white and orange and red, but you can’t focus on that. You are way past focusing on anything. This has to be some sort of weird dream bubble and what the _fuck_ is a dream bubble? Why did you even think that? Why is your Bro suddenly Not-Bro? _Why do you have coma not-memories?!_

**Dave: Calm down.**

You don’t calm down.

In fact, you make a soft, garbled noise of distress that roughly translates to you drowning in your own brain juices that are probably seeping from your ears right now. Not-Bro startles and he’s up in the next second with a sword in one hand, holding up his slipping black pants in the other. You’d flinched into a ready stance by rote as soon as he moved, but he makes no other advance towards you.

Also, he is positively swimming in what was previously a well-fitting outfit.

And he looks as shocked to see you as you are to see him.

The two of you stare at each other like you’re in an old Western and the futon is the tumbleweed, except replace the guns with swords and replace the steely gazes with dumbfounded dropped jaws and then you have this clusterfuck of a mess and _good lord_ you didn’t even know Bro’s face _had_ that kind of range in emotion and it’s starting to freak you out. You say starting, but what you actually mean is that your heart is pounding a beat in your throat and your palms are sweating, knees weak, mom’s spaghetti and god dammit you have no idea what to _do_ with this shit. Your whole survival—you mean, living, just living with your Bro is an exercise in learning his patterns, his tells, his moods. The guy’s never been predictable by any means, but you’ve gotten better and better at searching out the most subtle of changes to let you know what might be flying at your face longways in .5 seconds.

This. This is out of your range of practice. This is so far out of the range it’s wandered into the neighboring farm and started fucking _their_ bull.

Looking at him is making your head hurt. Your thoughts are a jumble between _not in years_ and _yesterday_ , _it’s not him_ and _but it is_ , and _he’s a good dude_ and _he’s going to stab me._ Your brain gets caught on _isn’t your Bro but it is_ and wow here goes another line of circuitous thinking that makes no fucking sense damn you are on a roll and damn you are definitely not freaking out or scared in any way.

Wow, you sure did severely underestimate just _how_ quick this day would plummet into shithole oblivion.

**Dave: Stop panicking.**

Panicking? What panicking? You’re the epitome of chill.

See? You wrestle your expression into a facsimile of its usual aloofness, kind of like a party trick. Not that it really matters, since Bro already saw it slip, but maybe it would quell some of his anger to see you were able to pull it back together so quickly.

Not-Bro’s brow furrows in confusion, and the grip on his sword goes lax. You’re not sure how yet, but this has got to be some sort of trick. Did he hire a creepily similar body-double off Craigslist to fuck with you? Did he _clone himself_? You wouldn’t put it past him. Either case indicates that this is not _technically_ your Bro, which you find highly unlikely considering his reflexes and propensity to grab the nearest sharp object when startled. Somehow, this is your Bro. You just haven’t figured out the ‘how’ yet.

His lips part at the same time that your brain decides to continue to fuel this non-stop festival of idiocy and possibly secure your inevitable beating.

“Bro?” you both ask.

And really, what the fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i can't write john to save my life.
> 
> i struggled with the formatting for this for ten years, but ultimately decided 'fuck it' and ended up with this. i started posting this on tumblr but figured ao3 would be a lot easier to deal with when it came to pesterlogs (and also i got sick of linking to other posts) so here we fuckin are 
> 
> i'm going to add tags as this continues and if you think a tag should be added feel free to drop a comment. not that i expect anyone to read this? 
> 
> also i should make it known that everything is subject to future editing bc i barely remember my own name sometimes so i'm constantly going back and editing shit in or out to make up for either my shit memory or lack of foresight so just be warned
> 
> also also i'm terrified of posting this bc there are so many good authors in this fandom and i am a disgrace and it's my first time posting a homestuck fic pls be gentle


	2. Temporary

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *cries in HTML*

**Be Not-Bro.**

What the fuck does that even mean? You’re not Not-Bro. No, you’re DIRK STRIDER and you have NO IDEA WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON.

You woke up about a MINUTE AGO after ROLLING OFF THE FUTON YOU DON’T REMEMBER FALLING ASLEEP ON IN THE FIRST PLACE in an APARTMENT that is YOURS BUT NOT. You also have NO IDEA why RANDOM WORDS are BEING CAPITALIZED and it’s making your HEADACHE even WORSE and okay the author will stop now.

The point is, you woke up groaning in a pile of puppets and shitty weapons and you’re not too happy about it. You were even less happy to find that you don’t recognize your own living room. Granted, the set-up is pretty sick, but that’s not the primary concern here. This place has far too many puppets, which you never thought was even possible until now, and far too few robots.

Your clothes are about three sizes too big and why are you wearing a fucking _polo_? _Why are you wearing a hat?_ Where is your sick ironic T-shirt that only touts the visage of a cap without you having to actually fuck up your hair to wear one?

There is a bone-deep essence of _wrongness_ about this situation that you can’t put your finger on – obviously not about all the blatant shit, but about yourself. There is something that should be inside you but _isn’t_ and wow isn’t that just the dirtiest damn thing you’ve ever accidentally thought.

Barring how off everything feels, there is noise. A lot of it. You double-check to make sure the TV isn’t on, and yep, it’s off and there is just. Noise. Muffled voices are speaking below you, someone’s TV is on and droning next door, a dog is barking somewhere, and you can hear what you can only assume is traffic noises.

Almost as a reflex, you turn your shades on while still laying pathetically atop a pile of things you don’t remember owning. Besides maybe some of the puppets.

**Dirk: Get some answers.**

**\--** **timaeusTestified [TT]** **began pestering** **timaeusTestified [TT]** **at 16:52 --**

**TT: AR.**

**TT: Yes, Dirk?**

**TT: What the fuck is going on?**

**TT: Dirk. It is statistically improbable that I don’t know what the fuck is going on right now. Would you like to know the margin of error for me not knowing what the fuck is going on right now, Dirk?**

**TT: AR.**

**TT: Yeah, dude, I have no fucking clue.**

You let out an irritated huff and run a hand through your hair, knocking the hat off in the process. AR being fucking annoying is a comforting constant, if nothing else.

**TT: Ugh.**

**TT: I honestly have no idea.**

**TT: I “woke up” at the same time you did, so for once I’m just as pathetically clueless as you are.**

**TT: It seems I am missing five months’ worth of data, which should be impossible to accomplish. Even for you.**

**TT: Yeah. It is.**

**TT: Where am I?**

**TT: Your apartment, obviously.**

You hoist yourself up on the futon with a clipped, “no fucking shit.” You plop down and lean forward with your elbows on your knees, steepling your fingers in front of you because it helps you think.

Oh, who are you kidding. You just fucking love Death Note.

**TT: Okay, it took me a few seconds to gather information on your current situation and all I have to say is: Holy fucking shit, Dirk.**

**TT: ?**

**TT: Holy SHIT.**

**TT: Um?**

**TT: The INTERNET, Dirk! Look at the Internet! Oh my God! This is more glorious than I could have ever imagined.**

**TT: What are you talking about?**

**TT: Did the Condesce do something to fuck up the connection?**

**TT: But I’m logged into PesterChum, so that doesn’t make sense…**

**TT: And that doesn’t explain the noise I’m hearing.**

**TT: Or anything else, really.**

**TT: Will you kindly shut the fuck up, Dirk? For like two goddamn seconds? I’m learning what memes are.**

**\--** **timaeusTestified [TT]** **ceased pestering** **timaeusTestified [TT]** **at 16:54 --**

**TT: What.**

Well, there’s another familiar constant: AR’s unsurprising lack of helpfulness. It would have been more upsetting if he _had_ been helpful, honestly. You don’t think you can stand another upheaval of your worldview right now.

Suddenly, there is a noise behind you like someone’s gargling balls, not that you know what that sounds like. You react instinctively, albeit embarrassingly slow. You grab one of the shitty swords strewn about, use your other hand to keep these stupid huge pants from falling down, and face whatever the fuck—huh?

That is…

That is definitely your Bro, if miniature.

Mini-Bro.

Mini-Bro is in his own signature shades, sword in hand and pointed at you and staring at you with his jaw dropped low and you can practically _feel_ his confusion and anxiety, and you’re sure you’re not faring much better because what the _fuck._ Did you get teleported back in time or something? That would explain the sudden presence of the Internet and people, at least, but not your clothes. Maybe the clothes were just a side effect?

You could also just be dreaming, but you’ve never had any problems navigating your dream self at the same time as your—what. What even was that line of thinking? What are you talking about, a dream self?

The feeling is back. The feeling like you’re missing a vital part of yourself, but maybe that’s also a side effect of inadvertent time travel. Fuck.

Mini-Bro looks like he could be your age, but you’re not sure. You’re not even really sure this _is_ your Bro, even if it was his apartment, technically, at some point, and he looks a helluva lot like the adult you idolized via any related media you could get your hands on.

Well, he _is_ right there. It’s not like you’ll have a better chance to confirm.

“Bro?” you ask at the same time he does. Then you belatedly realize that even if this _was_ your Bro, he’d still have no fucking clue who you are. Clearly temporal shenanigans have fucked with your normally superior intellect.

Also, this is awkward.

And _also_ also— _what_?

You stare at each other some more.

He looks like he’s fully ready to fight you, even though he had also just referred to you as ‘Bro’. Maybe this is a trick from the batterwitch? You hadn’t known she could conjure illusions, but considering all the other shit she’s capable of, it wouldn’t surprise you. It would also explain why he’d called you ‘Bro’ to begin with, considering Dave Strider never even knew your name.

You tighten your grip and shuffle your feet a little for better footing.

“So,” you draw the word out a few seconds and Jesus Christ is this awkward, illusion or not. You’ve voice chatted and video called with your three friends, but you will never not be a shit conversationalist. Especially when this is your first in-person interaction with another human being (if this isn’t an illusion) and you’re not sure whether to be rejoicing for a reunion you never thought you’d get or attempting to run as far away as you can to break the trap that this might be.

Maybe you should channel Jake for a few seconds.

What would that affable doofus do in this situation?

“There appears to be some… shenanigans afoot.”

You’re pretty shit at reading people, but even you can tell Mini-Bro gives you a weird look for that one, even if it’s cloaked in about ten other emotions that are quickly tamped down on. Impressive. Maybe you can get some tips from him because you are doing a spectacularly piss-poor job about staying level-headed in this situation.

Side note, you’re never channeling Jake again. That idea, more than anything else, perfectly signifies how off your game you are right now.

What you need is focus. Whether this is a time thing or an illusion thing, it could also be affecting Roxy. You should get into contact with her before anything else.

“ _Shenanigans_?” Mini-Bro is mumbling, sounding disbelieving. “You’ve got to be shitting— “ 

You raise your hand to tap the glasses out of idle mode and your Bro shifts into a tight stance like you’re about to lunge at him, apprehension and anxiety spiking and shit, maybe you’re better at reading people than you thought.

Regardless, that’s a point in the ‘illusion’ column, if he’s so prepared to fight at any sudden movement.

You make a mental note to split your attention between the PesterChum window and him. You doubt he’s fast enough to get the drop on you, but you can’t be too careful.

“Hold that thought,” you tell him as you pull up Roxy’s chumhandle. “I need to talk to a friend.”

“A _friend_?” you hear Mini-Bro echo distantly, dripping with suspicion and distrust. But you’ve got bigger fish to fry. Even if… half of the fish is still focused on Mini-Bro? Fuck that metaphor.

**Dirk: Pester Roxy.**

**\--** **timaeusTestified [TT]** **started pestering** **tipsyGnostalgic [TG]** **at 17:12 --**

**TT: Roxy.**

**TT: You there?**

**TT: …**

**TT: Guess not.**

**TT: Some weird shit is going down.**

**TT: I just need to know if anything’s happening on your side of things.**

**TT: Get back to me as soon as you can.**

**\--** **timaeusTestified [TT]** **ceased pestering** **tipsyGnostalgic [TG]** **at 17:14 --**

**Dirk: Don’t panic.**

As if. Panic isn’t even in your vocabulary. Also, you hate movie references that you’re sure Jake would make. You humbly request that the author never do that again. The author asks, Houston, do you have a problem? You refuse to indulge in her idiocy.

You tune back in to a stoic Mini-Bro still pointing a sword at you. You can’t blame him; you’re sort of doing the same thing. Underneath his façade of indifference, though, you can sense his unease, coupled with a slew of other negative emotions that he’s been projecting since you first laid eyes on him. They ebb and flow with the conversation, but one thing is for sure: he does _not_ trust you. You need to figure out whether there’s a surefire way to parse if this is an illusion or not, without letting the batterwitch know you’re onto her.

“Why did you call me ‘Bro’?” he asks, a forced nonchalance in his tone that’s only easy for you to detect because you can tell how nonchalant he _isn’t._

Wait, what did he say?

You blink.

Well, shit. That’s a pretty damn surefire way. There is no way the batterwitch would conjure an illusion of your Bro without said Bro knowing your relation, surely. Unless it was a trick?

God, you fucking hate mind games. They’re only fun when you’re the one behind their machinations.

“Because… you’re my Bro?” fuck, you suck at this. Where’s Roxy’s natural enigmatic charm when you need it?

Mini-Bro stares you down, expression unreadable, but emotions an open book. He’s determined now, angry, tense, and a little… scared? Why would he be scared? Also, who knew you’d be such a fucking natural at reading people? Not you, but it doesn’t surprise you. You excel at most things in life, after all.

“I don’t know what the trick here is,” Mini-Bro says, tone clipped even though his face doesn’t even twitch, “and I’m sure it’s hilarious, dude, like seriously laughin’ my ass off over here, but can we just… skip to the part where you tell me what the fuck is going on?”

He winces at the end, almost imperceptibly, but he’s been still so long that it’s easy for you to pick up on it. It had also been easy to detect due to the uptick in fear that was as obvious to your sense as the twitch.

More importantly though, what the fuck. Now _neither_ scenario makes sense. This is more than you fucking signed up for. Not that you ever signed up for time traveling shenanigans to begin with, or that in this theoretical scenario there would ever exist some quirky fucker handing out surveys for time traveling shticks in the first place, but the point still stands. This is bullshit. This is the first person you’ve met in real life and it’s in this ridiculous dumbfuck scenario.

You may have a headache and you’re five points past the ‘maximally overwhelmed’ Strider scale of bullshit tolerance, but that doesn’t mean your brain is any less efficient.

Even if it’s only coming up with one viable answer at the moment.

“So my theory is time travel,” you cut to the chase, because beating around the bush is for wimps and idiots with a crush they’ll never own up to. Not that you’re pointing any fingers or anything. “I’m from the future. In the future, you’re my older brother,” more or less, “and I live here. I thought that these clothes,” speaking of, you grab the top of your stupidly big pants again before they can slip any lower, “were a side effect of some temporal bullshit, but it sounds more like I body-swapped with _your_ older brother. Which is… kind of fucking stupid and makes no sense, but it’s the best theory I’ve got so I’m just going to roll with it.”

At some point in your explanation, you’re pretty sure Mini-Bro just mentally checked out, emotions doing a chaotic imitation of an actual shitstorm. It’s only when you stop speaking that he jolts back into awareness, clearly pissed as fuck _._

“It’s not time travel,” he snaps, before visibly trying to rein himself in. He says it convincingly enough that you almost believe him and you have no idea why. Maybe it’s the hero worship talking. You’ll have to watch yourself with that.

“How do you know that?” you ask evenly.

“Because time is my thing, dude,” he says, like it’s obvious. Then he seems to go slack with shock at his own words because yeah, that was some dumb nonsense shit he just said.

“Time is your… thing?” you repeat, just to be sure you’re on the same page of fuckwit stupid. Have to make sure you didn’t make a wrong turn into Sanesville.

“Yeah, that…” he sounds equal parts confused and annoyed, “…was definitely some dumb nonsense shit that I just said.”

“Cool,” you tell him, because at least you’re not the only crazy one. It’s good to know your kind-of-ancestor is also a dumb fuckup. “Now that we’re passed that pointless bullshit and have bonded in the spires of stupidity, I’ve got some questions I’d like to ask.”

“The feeling is mutual,” Mini-Bro grumbles, seemingly to himself. He hasn’t relaxed in the slightest, either physically or mentally, which is… confusing? You’re pretty sure it’s not standard procedure to keep a sword pointed at your time-traveling younger brother, once finding out his identity.

...Okay, to be fair, if he’s anything like you, the sword would stay out until every suspicion was assuaged. And let’s be fucking real, this situation is as suspicious as it gets.

“Right, well—“

“Your theory sounds like some Grade-A all-natural horseshit, dude,” he cuts in, defiant and oddly anxious again. “You being my younger brother… First of all, as far as I know I don’t have any parents to even make that possible. But barring that, the whole _body-swapping_ thing makes _no sense_ unless—wait. Is that what you look like? Like, normally?”

You have no idea where this line of questioning is going, but whatever, you’re just rolling with shit at this point.

“Yes.” You haven’t looked in a mirror yet, but you’ve been in your own body for 16 years. You’re pretty sure you’d notice if you weren’t you.

“That’s what I mean!” and yeah, that’s definite aggravation. Just in case, you make sure to have a steady footing when he bristles. “You… you’re him! You’re my Bro – even if you are a younger, way more verbally expressive one. Hell, you’re way more expressive in general. It’s fuckin’ freaky, dude.”

Okay, well now you’re just confused.

It’s possibly just an eerie familial coincidence. The details of your conception are fuzzy to you, but considering Mini-Bro is just a stand-in brother-figure who you strived to model yourself after, the first half of his argument was irrelevant to you. Even if you look startlingly alike and have a lot of personality similarities, you’re not technically closely related, as far as you’re aware.

You also weren’t aware that he’d even _had_ an older brother, much less that he apparently looked exactly like you. But one part of that isn’t surprising considering how little is documented of Dave Strider’s younger years.

…You wonder if he’ll let you call him Dave.

God dammit. Focus.

This circumstance can easily be explained away by strong genetics. In fact, it’s oddly vindicating to find out you’re probably a lot more closely related than you’d originally deluded yourself to believe.

“I am, to my knowledge, definitely not your older brother,” you tell him. It does nothing to settle him down. In fact, it makes him angrier along with another emotion you can’t name. Fuck. “Sorry? I mean, I grant that it’s a strange coincidence that we look alike, but I’m…”

Pink has just popped up in your peripheral, startling you out of your train of thought. Mini-Bro is once more a typhoon of negativity and while that’s concerning, Roxy’s input is invaluable. It takes precedence.

“Hold that thought,” you say, refocusing on your shades. Again, though, you’re going to split your attention. It’s not in your blood to let your guard down completely in any given situation, but especially one where a dude’s pointing a sword at you.

**Dirk: Answer Roxy.**

**\--** **tipsyGnostalgic [TG]** **began pestering** **timaeusTestified [TT]** **at 17:28 --**

**TG: hhheeeeeyyyyy drik!!!!**

**TG: drok******

**TG: dork*********

**TG: heeheeee yeppers thatsh the 1!!!!1**

**TG: whatsh ; all this nosie i here bout some**

**TG: dare i sahy**

**TG: SHUNNANQUINS?**

**TT: Many shunnanquins are indeed afoot.**

**TT: I’m kind of…**

**TT: Looking at a teen version of my Bro right now?**

**TG: huhbudhuh wHUh?????////**

**TT: My thoughts exactly.**

**TG: well shti**

**TG: r u ok????/**

**TT: I’m fine.**

**TG: thatsha lie but oka ill let is dlie s ***slied *****slidE fuk thish tym shritrder ;)))**

**TT: How gracious.**

**TG: ik**

**TG: is ti ithe baterwitch???//**

**TT: I don’t think so.**

**TT: It’s looking less likely by the second, but I’m not going to rule it out.**

**TG: oh**

**TG: ummma??**

**TG: hhmm…**

**TT: ?**

Mini-Bro is shifting restlessly from foot-to-foot now, never taking his eyes off you and getting more antsy by the minute. You’re sure he’ll try to interject soon, but you can’t afford him much attention. Roxy is the priority right now.

**TG: sooooo dirtyk i ummm jsut woek up**

**TG: saw ur sxy asssss ornge txt gettin me all hot n bthered as usaual**

**TG: buuuuuuut it apppppeaaaaaaaarshhhhhh**

**TG: tht i …**

**TG: m not…**

**TG: in my hoauses?**

**TT: What?**

**TT: Where are you?**

**TT: Are you okay?**

**TG: ok ok ko alriahgt clam dwon dorky dirk ifm ine!!**

**TG: altho that outsubrst wash vruy**

**TG: shwet ;)))**

**TG: n i grietly ppreshute the conern**

**TG: but it seemsh a shto**

**TG: shenafqiengs r alsod afeet at my hububmble adobe**

**TT: Explain.**

**TG: i dnot recogniae anythign**

**TG: welln o**

**TG: i do**

**TG: but noen of ti is the… rigth antyghin???**

**TG: my pacle but not**

**TT: Sounds about right.**

And sounds like she’s as involved in this as you hoped she wasn’t. Although, now that you think about it, you’d hate if you left her behind in a place where you were literally the last two humans alive. This might actually be better. At least now you can keep an eye on her if things go pear-shaped, which they almost always do.

You ignore a huff of annoyance from Mini-Bro.

**TG: malso in big girl cltoehs??? ?**

**TG: sweirds… n… insultaing……**

**TG: m booobs too samll for thish classhey attrie!!!!1 >;(((**

**TT: Yeah.**

**TT: Roxy.**

**TT: It seems we have a problem.**

**TT: Considering I’m in clothes way too big for me and in my place, which is ‘my pacle but not’.**

**TG: hmmmm eyush**

**TG: htish seemsha 2 be uqite teh………..**

**TG: PREHDICKMINT**

**TT: Indeed.**

**TT: My working theory is time travel.**

**TT: Which means…**

**TT: I don’t fucking know what it means, really.**

**TT: It appears we’ve been dropped into the same time period as our long-gone ancestors by some bullfuckery of epic proportions that I’m not yet abreast of.**

**TG: teehehe**

**TG: abareast…**

**TT: Yeah.**

**TG: WTAI!!!!!!**

**TG: *GAAAASPDS***

**TT: So the first part of that finally sunk in, did it?**

**TG: donot evena FUKC w me rn drik**

**TG: r u sayine**

**TG: my moms….**

**TT: Probably.**

**TG: !!!!!!!!!!!!!1111**

**TG: tenh janey and jaek???!?!!?1/11**

**TT: Not born yet.**

**TT: Or else, very young.**

**TG: bawewwwwwwww ;(((((**

**TG: butu stilL!!111**

**TG: do u thnik….**

**TG: do u think shes in teh hsueo rn………..**

**TT: More than likely.**

**TG: ;OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOo**

“What are you even doing _?_ ” Mini-Bro demands. You look at him fully through the wall of text. His face is mostly back to the picture of cool detachment, if not for the subtle downward turn of his mouth. He feels like the living embodiment of impatience and consternation.

“I told you,” you say, “I’m talking to a friend.”

This does nothing to appease him. Not that you were expecting it to. You’re very quickly cottoning on to the fact that Mini-Bro… doesn’t seem to like you very much, even if he doesn’t really know you at all.

Which is... disappointing, but unsurprising.

You are, after all, a pretty shitty person. You’re like the shit knock-off bootlegged version of Mini-Bro if he had like, an evil clone. Well, not clone, obviously. Maybe evil brother. Ugh.

Point is, you’d never held on to the childish hope of ever getting to meet your ancestor, but that didn’t keep you from fantasizing. For some reason, you foolishly thought that you’d get along, even if it was just as a mutual understanding of sick as fuck shared interests. Clearly, you’d been overestimating your own likability, which is kind of fucking hilarious considering how self-flagellation is like, a longtime pastime of yours.

After a second though, some sort of dawning realization seems to pass over his face, uncertainty replacing distress, and he eases his stance a little.

“Using your shades?” he asks haltingly and _oh_. Of course. Technology right now is way different than all the shit you’re used to. Wow. What a gross miscalculation on your part. Just another point in the ‘Dirk’s a truly incompetent failure of a genius right now’ column.

“Yeah, they double as a desktop,” you explain. Pink text is popping up still, but Roxy can wait a second. She seems to not be in immediate danger, anyway. “I can use my brainwaves to control it, including chatting with friends through a shared chat client.”

“Shit,” Mini-Bro says. “That’s sick as fuck.”

“Hell yeah it is,” you agree, because it is. Brainwave technology was a construct entirely of your own invention and it took years to perfect. It’s not like you’re overblowing an achievement here, even if it is kind of old news to you now. “One sec, while I wrap up.”

“K.”

**TG: aslekfjawlejfa;l**

**TG: kqj;waelkafm;wlekjf**

**TG: alwe;alkjdf;lakjse;f!!1111**

**TG: ;alwemfa;welkaug**

**TG: omgogmogmogmomgogm**

**TG: wat m ai evn gna sya 2 hre!!!!**

**TG: ****hear!!!!1**

**TG: ******ehar!!!!!!!!!!11111111111**

**TG: fuckit**

**TG: omgao ei hav 2 sober the fucup rn omg**

**TG: ui cnat mete her lyk dis ima mESS!!!!11**

**TG: okokokokoeky gota pul ur shti 2GETHA rxoy cmon**

**TT: I should warn you that it’s very likely that you replaced someone that she’s living with, possibly a mother or older sister.**

**TT: And that she’s going to be very, very confused about that fact and possibly aggressive, if my own ancestor is any indication.**

**TT: Which is understandable, considering I hijacked his brother’s place in this universe with no discernible reason or explanation to give him.**

**TG: wwo dork way 2 make aibtch feel way lesss ecited bout a thign**

**TT: Sorry.**

**TG: nonono sifne**

**TG: thx 4 teh headsup**

**TG: wsa wondrin bout teh rad garbs but was 2 excite d 2 thnik but it 2 mchu**

**TT: Sounds like you’re at least sobering up a little.**

**TG: hels yeh!!!**

**TG: found a botle water, chuggd baltle water**

**TG: im all sorst of ontop of this shti dirk shits banans**

**TT: I believe you.**

**TT: Message me again after you meet her.**

**TT: I’m going to continue talking to my own ancestor for more information and I’ll want to compare notes.**

**TG: blahbalhablah dorky UGH**

**TG: onlu u culd make sch a onc in a lifeltim opportunitay ninto such a damn WTE BLANEKT FEST!!!**

**TT: Sorry.**

**TG: itsh k tho m stil cited**

**TT: I’m happy.**

**TT: I mean.**

**TT: For you.**

**TT: I hope it goes well for you.**

**TG: dawwwwwwwww <3333 ;)))) driK!!!**

**TG: <3 u2 **

**TG: im nervous but im shrue itll wkr out ok!!11**

**TG: dont thnk 4 a sec that ill evr 4get tht cute af proxlmcation tho dirkypoo**

**TT: Fuck.**

**TG: sokay ur soft sqyiushy adorablenase is safe w me <333**

**TG: (evn if were litrally all awre of it lmoa)**

**TT: I am not soft, squishy, or adorable.**

**TT: My puppets are, but not me.**

**TT: I’m just a cool motherfucker with a sword.**

**TG: lmaooooo fkn nerd**

**TG: u cant full this foxy babe strider!!!!1**

**TG: im onto ur tsuntsun secres!!!**

**TG: neway**

**TG: gna pump msyel the fuk UP!!!11**

**TG: gte sober**

**TG: find cltohes that fit poss**

**TG: mete my teen mom**

**TG: ezpz**

**TT: You’ve got this.**

**TG: ofc I do!!!!11 >;OOO**

**TG: okey tlk to u l8r distri!**

**TG: dont scar ur ancestr 2 mchu w ur wet blnanket horsehsite**

**TT: No guarantees there.**

**TT: Good luck with your mom, Roxy.**

**TT: Later.**

**\--** **timaeusTestified [TT]** **ceased pestering** **tipsyGnostalgic [TG]** **at 17:45 --**

After Mini-Bro had figured out that you were actually talking to someone, he’d mellowed out a bit. He still hasn’t put the sword down though, or even given any indication that he plans to stop pointing it at you anytime soon. You figure this is as good a concession as you’re going to get right now so you’ll take it.

“It seems I’m not the only one whose been subjected to this time traveling debacle of epic dumbshit proportions,” you tell him. He cocks his head inquisitively. “My friend seems to also have been transported back from our time period.”

“Man, I already told you,” Mini-Bro insists impatiently, “this isn’t some time shit.”

Then he’s even _more_ pissed and you’re starting to get pissed, too, and that is not good in a situation where two people are pointing swords at each other. You frown, because you’re only human and this scenario is already ridiculous and stupid enough without him denying your only plausible explanation.

“So you’ve said. But then we both agreed that that exclamation was nonsensical dogshit that you had no way of backing up. I guess I was just operating under the assumption that we were ignoring that statement as the weird, unexplainable outburst that it was.”

“Not cool, dude,” he grumbles. You just shrug one shoulder, because you’re not really in the habit of sparing anyone’s feelings, especially if they’re being particularly obtuse. He sighs. “Look, I can’t explain it either. You caught me on such a ludicrously off day that it’s unreal, man. I mean, the longer it goes on the more weird shit keeps getting dragged and thrown onto the already flaming bonfire of stupid that has been this fucking day. I’m not even 100% sure that I haven’t just been dreaming this whole time, even if it is hyper-realistic. This shit is exactly the kind of nerve-wracking fuckery my fucked-up brain would conjure up for me in dreamland. In fact, why don’t I just make sure this _isn’t_ that, to spare myself the torture of even more dumb fucking bullshit thrown on the ‘fuck you’ bonfire of my life.”

You guess you can check off ‘incoherent rambling’ in the Strider-genetics box. That one you were never too sure about, but Hell if it wasn’t just confirmed in the most spectacular fashion and oh. Oh no. What is he doing.

He’s finally relaxed, switching the sword to one hand only and using the other to bring closer to the sword and _nope_ —

Your body moves before you’re even consciously aware of telling it to. You drop your sword and flash-step to his side, grabbing the wrist of the hand traveling towards the blade.

“Don’t,” you say at the same time that he startles so badly he almost cuts you, so you catch the other wrist, too, and redirect it away from your vulnerable, fleshy torso. “You’re not dreaming, idiot, even if I kind of wish that were true.”

He doesn’t respond.

You understand why only when you look at his face and immediately freeze.

Raw, unadulterated terror hits you like a tidal wave. _Terror_ had been one of the unnamed threads of emotion, buzzing around constantly in Mini-Bro’s subconscious, but now that you’ve identified it you have no idea what it _means_.

You almost flinch, your eyes widening as you belatedly realize that you can feel him shaking, nearly imperceptibly, in your hands.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. What did you _do_?

You release him immediately and flash back the way you came, putting distance between you while he very obviously winces with another overwhelming output of fear at your sudden disappearance.

Wow, you’re a fucking idiot.

Clearly there is something going on here that you aren’t aware of. As far as you know, that is not a normal response, except… maybe it was?

Fuck. You forget that normal people can’t flash-step like you can. You’d just assumed that he could because of inherent Striderhood. You are the biggest fucking tool. It’s you.

“Sorry,” you say, because you have no idea what the fuck else to say and it’s true. “I… don’t know what just happened there, but clearly I did something wrong. I’m… a lot faster than normal people, I think, and I didn’t think about how alarming it would be for someone who’s never seen me do it. Sorry. I just didn’t want you to hurt yourself.”

There’s a long, tense stretch of silence. You watch him carefully as he tries to lock down his maelstrom of panic. He’s back to a ready stance in a second flat, evening out his previously heaving breaths in just as short a time.

It’s kind of… odd, now that you think about it. All of it is, actually. Every piece of media and history you’ve managed to consume from this time period indicated none of what you’re seeing right now. In all of the non-sci-fi shit, kids usually had two parents who seemed to begrudgingly but unquestionably care for them, and kids would ride bikes, play video games, go to school, and chat with friends. That had been your impression of normality for this era, not a guy who is clearly trained with a sword, surrounded by other deadly weapons in the home. You didn’t think about it earlier, because it’s pretty much how you grew up, but obviously that wasn’t the case back when humans other than you and Roxy still existed. At least, that had been what you thought.

Of course, all this shit might just be a hobby. This Mini-Bro has probably never used a sword against someone in his life – not seriously, anyway. He’s never had alien drones knocking on his door or murder robots to train him for when they did. And you just fucking _terrified_ him by showing that you can practically teleport short distances.

Great. Now you feel like an even shittier person than you already knew you were.

Guess you can throw this emotion on the bullshit ‘fuck you’ bonfire, too. Except you won’t, because that’s Mini-Bro’s bonfire, and you’ve already scarred him enough.

At least Mini-Bro seems to have composed himself now, even if he is, once again, tenser than an unprepped butthole.

Your instincts urge you otherwise, but you remain unarmed. You don’t ever want to see that expression on his face again, if you can help it.

“First of all,” Mini-Bro begins in a clearly carefully-constructed monotone, considering the rage and stress and anxiety that underlies it, “it’s not a good idea to grab me when I have a sword in my hand. In fact, it’s a pretty fucking terrible idea to grab me without warning at any point in time. So maybe just. Don’t.”

You nod, because that’s fair and you’re pretty willing to agree to anything he says right now. “Noted.”

His jaw clenches briefly against yet another surge of panic (and fuck, you’re not even sure what’s _causing it_ now), but he’s back to neutrality just as quick. “Second, what were you trying to do, exactly?”

“I told you,” you say, “I didn’t want you to hurt yourself.”

His cool façade shatters into disbelief in a heartbeat. “Are you serious?” he asks, and you stay silent because yeah, why the fuck would you let him cut himself? “You’re serious. Oh my God. Dude. I don’t know how far in the future you’re from, but pinching doesn’t hurt that much.”

Pinching…?

Oh.

Oh fuck.

Oh you fucking dumbfuck idiot stupidpants holy shit.

You can _feel_ the blush rising in your cheeks. God dammit.

“I thought,” you say, trying desperately not to sound as choked as you feel, “it _looked_ like you were going to cut yourself.”

Another silence.

You refuse to look at him.

You also take that time to beg whatever forces that brought you here to send you right the fuck back right the fuck now before you can make an even bigger ass of yourself than you already have.

They, predictably, don’t abide.

“Holy fuck,” he whispers, dumbstruck. “You’re serious.”

“Yes,” you say, still unable to look at him. “This isn’t my proudest moment.” In fact, it’s quite possibly your worst moment.

“Well, you’re definitely not my Bro,” he says, but it sounds like he doesn’t really believe it. Huh. You sneak a peek up then to find him lowering his sword slightly, still wary. “Even if you talk like him, look like him, have his abilities, and have his shades.”

You frown. “His abilities?”

He nods. “Yeah. He can flash-step the exact same way. You also seem pretty fuckin’ handy with a sword.”

“I am more than handy with a sword,” you say before you can stop yourself. Then the first half of that sentence registers and you’re confused again. “He can flash-step?”

“Yeah,” he says nonchalantly (around yet another fear spike), as if that didn’t debunk the whole reason you thought he’d been so scared before (and still now). “I think he’s faster, though.”

You have… no idea what to do with this information, and no idea how to bring it up. Maybe… he’s still not used to it, because he can’t do it? Or…

“Can you flash-step?” you ask.

“Yeah,” he cocks his head slightly. “Not as well, but yeah.”

Well, there goes _that_ half-formed theory.

There is actually next to nothing that can account for the way he’d been so unsettlingly terrified. Anything you can come up with feels like grasping at straws, but you guess you can understand that having a stranger you just met who replaced your brother suddenly up in your space when he had just been holding a sword could be… jarring. _Anyone_ would be startled by that, possibly even scared, but…

But.

You’d made no aggressive move before that. You’d given no indication that you had any intent to harm him. You may have had a sword in your hand, but you had stopped pointing it at him long before he stopped pointing it at you.

The expression on his face then hadn’t been a fear response to being startled and/or frightened, that had been abject _terror._

And maybe someone less aware and in control of their own emotions would have displayed such a face, but you’ve seen Mini-Bro craft a mask of impassivity often enough in this long-winded clusterfuck that you’re certain that isn’t a face that could be easily pulled from him.

And outside of that, he’s been scared in one form or another during this entire exchange, even if it was the least prevalent emotion available to you at any given moment. You suppose it could be because of your sudden appearance in place of his brother, but you have no idea how to ask him about it.

…God you suck at this.

Maybe you’ll just settle, for now, with avoiding asking about it entirely and instead just trying to make those ever-present vestiges of fear go away.

**Go back to being the other questionably cool dude.**

You are now Dave Strider again and you are going to ignore that slanderous command because this is possibly the worst day of your life.

Not-Bro is looking at you with that same blank, unnerving stare that you’ve gotten used to over the years, even if it’s on a face twenty years younger. You have no idea how it happened or how you know, but there is no time-traveling at play here. This dude _is_ your Bro. Even ignoring all your not-thoughts that have basically confirmed that to be true since the beginning, that move he pulled earlier almost confirms it. It was a classic Bro move – you let your guard down for a second and he took it as an opening, even if it was just to scare the shit out of you.

The issue is… there’s a lot of conflicting signals happening, such as the blushing. Holy shit. You’d never thought Bro even capable of it, but you’re also finding it harder and harder to believe that Bro isn’t just fucking with you. Whether the whole aging back thing was deliberate or not (and honestly? You wouldn’t be surprised if it _was_ deliberate), he’d take any opportunity he could to test you and then probably fuck you up.

It just doesn’t make any sense. A younger brother? Even though he shows no signs of even knowing who Bro is? A friend who’s in the same situation? A brainwave-reading shades computer? You’re pretty sure Bro is just pulling this shit out of his ass as he goes, just leaving one big turd trail that makes no plausible fucking sense. It is literally the flimsiest backstory imaginable. You’re still pissed at yourself for letting your guard down for even a _millisecond._ It’s like you never fucking learn.

But even now you have your doubts. First off, his southern twang is nearly completely absent. And much more importantly, Bro has never apologized to you, you didn’t even think he knew the word ‘sorry’, and if you ever backtalked him like you’ve done _multiple_ times already, he would have backhanded you into next week. You have no idea what to think, and you fucking hate it. You feel like either vibrating out of your skin or curling up in a fetal position until whoever the fuck this is, Bro or Not-Bro, just leaves.

The headache that’s building certainly doesn’t help matters. The anxiety is nearly overwhelming it, but there has been something niggling in the back of your consciousness since this conversation started. It’s the same damn feeling you had talking with John earlier, like you’ve had a conversation before that you don’t remember. It’s a familiar feeling of _forgetfulness_ and there-but-not-there, like that bullshit ‘tip-of-your-tongue’ shit. Or edging. But you prefer the tongue thing because thinking about edging in this context is freaking you out.

“Let’s spitball,” you say to distract yourself from your own cyclical thoughts, and also because you have a burning need to figure this out before Bro gives up the joke and starts swinging. “I won’t say the dumb shit about it not being related to time again because I don’t want to embarrass myself more than I already have, but I wanna try to find other explanations.”

“You have the floor,” Not-Bro says in Bro’s same uncaring drawl, sans prominent Texan accent. “Time fuckery is my only working theory, but coming up with possible alternatives is never a bad idea.”

“Yeah, exactly. So anyway, I was thinking maybe some age regression shit is at play.”

You hold your breath, heart hammering in your chest (as it has been for a while now, which is probably unhealthy but whatever, you’re used to it) when he frowns. Seriously. The sheer amount of emoting this guy has done in one conversation is off the charts wild. In fact, just hearing his voice like this is weird. You’re pretty sure he’s easily exceeded the amount of words he’s said to you in your entire lifetime in a single conversation. You guess that’s another point in the ‘he’s actually Not-Bro’ column.

“Interesting theory,” he says in a way that tells you he thinks it is, in fact, stupid as fuck, “but impossible. I have no memory of growing older than I am now, and that’s not even factoring in the whole ‘I’m not from this time period’ thing.”

His delivery is deadpan and borderline condescending, and it’s so Bro-like that you have to grit your teeth against another surge of adrenaline and that’s it. You can’t fucking take this Bro-to-Not-Bro whiplash anymore.

“Alright, Bro, I’m gonna be completely fucking honest here. I don’t believe you,” you state with as much bravado as you can. The fact that he doesn’t look surprised by this declaration is making your hands shake with trepidation, but you shove it back like bile after a bad tuna sandwich.

“Yeah, if our positions were switched, I wouldn’t believe me, either,” he says easily, if a bit put-out and fuck you _want_ to believe this isn’t your Bro. You want so bad to think this is just some weird relative from the near future that somehow looks like a young clone of your Bro, but you can’t. You can’t risk it. If Bro has taught you anything, it’s that you can’t trust anything he says or does.

You’re so tightly wound that you nearly jump out of your skin when there’s a knock at the door.

And then you actually _leap the fuck backwards_ and make some embarrassing fucking noise that you will never admit to making because suddenly Bro is in front of you with a sword again and you lift your own sword to reflexively parry a swing—

Except…

He’s not even facing you.

“Stay back, Dave,” he says, voice low and calm as he readjusts his grip on the sword he’s got pointed towards the door.

In your absolute, unbridled, mindfucked shock, you let your sword arm fall limply to your side while you stare at Not-Bro’s back, preposterously fucking flabbergasted.

“What are you _doing?_ ” you demand because apparently your survival instincts have just flown the fucking coop in the face of whatever the fuck this is.

Not-Bro’s pants are falling down. His boxers are hot pink. You choke on your own spit and direct your gaze at the safe, dirty ceiling instead, wondering desperately if you can bleach your eyeballs.

“Stay behind me,” he says, deathly serious, and you lower your eyes again to dazedly watch him stalk closer and closer to the hallway door, sword raised and poised to strike.

It only dawns on you when he’s about to round the corner that he is about to open the door, probably to your sweet old lady neighbor, with a fucking _katana._ Even if Bro was sort of sword-crazy, you never saw him raise the weapon at anyone else but you before.

So you may or may not panic and flash-step behind him, grabbing his shoulder and _pulling_ and oh God he’s going to stab you you’ve fucked up.

What actually happens is that he stumbles a bit in surprise and gives you a confused, somewhat impatient frown.

“What are you _doing?!_ ” you whisper furiously, because you are so thrown off your ‘cool and indifferent’ train that you can’t even _see_ the fucking tracks anymore. You’re probably in the goddamn ocean with how far off-fucking-course you are with any semblance of cool.

“I’m protecting you,” he says softly, clearly trying to be patient with you but what the fuck were those words he just said? “Let me handle this.”

He moves to pull away from you but you just grip harder and pull him back again because clearly you have a death wish.

“From our _neighbor?_ ” you demand.

Then you watch as his face goes through an impressive amount of emotions – from an uncomprehending frown to slow realization to embarrassed horror.

“Neighbors,” he says, sounding completely off-balance, “are definitely a thing that exist.”

You stare at him, unable to undrop your jaw from this statement.

He stares back as his lips slowly purse.

“I am beginning to believe,” you say slowly, “that you are not, in fact, my Bro.”

He releases a quiet huff of amusement, smirk pulling at his mouth. He leans his sword up against the wall. Then he thankfully pulls up the pants again. Small mercies.

“Yeah? Would it take me actually stabbing your neighbor to _fully_ convince you?”

You give it some serious thought.

“Honestly, it would make me believe you even less. I would just think you finally snapped.”

He lets loose another tiny chuff of laughter and something small and warm unfurls in your chest at the sound, even if that wasn’t actually a joke. Maybe that made it funnier. Morbid humor is more Rose’s bread and butter, though.

The knock sounds again and you both turn your heads toward it. Shit. She can probably hear you talking, too. You hate being rude to old people. They’re already going to die soon, why make it worse.

But Not-Bro makes no move towards opening it, in fact, he tenses up.

“Well?” you prompt. He turns back to you with an unreadable expression. “Are you going to answer it?”

You stare at each other.

Somehow, it doesn’t make you want to flee to the nearest emergency exit, even if your hand does tighten on your sword.

He lowers his head, breaking the kind of not really eye contact. You’re both wearing sunglasses, after all.

“Could… could you, instead… could you answer it?”

This dude sounds like he has never asked anyone for anything in his life, and it’s kind of endearing as fuck.

Even so, you hesitate before disarming yourself, long enough that he lifts his gaze again. But if he kicks your ass now, well, at least it’ll have to wait until after ol’ Thelma is gone.

“Sure, man,” you say, casual as can be. Damn you are good at collecting your fine ass from the precipice of panic attacks. A goddamn zen master of mental illness, you are. Not that you have any, because you are a master at them and therefore they cancel each other out and okay fuck this train of thought.

You lean your sword against the wall, right next to his. It takes you a worrying amount of time to will your fingers into unclasping around the hilt, but eventually they obey, and you flex them a few times because _fucking ow_ they hurt.

You try to ignore Not-Bro’s scrutiny.

You fail spectacularly.

You take two steps towards the door.

Then there’s a sudden iron grip on your arm and you swivel so hard in an attempt to get away that your back slams into the hallway wall.

He stares at you, mouth agape, hand suspended in the air you had just been.

“Stop _doing_ that,” you snap, voice embarrassingly high as you try very fucking hard to pull your shit back up your ass right now. Not that you shit your pants. But that was definitely a possibility.

“Sorry,” he says while you get your breathing back under control. He looks contrite, which is a small comfort after your near heart attack, but his expression soon shifts to that weird micro-frown that you can’t interpret, and he does it a helluva lot.

He’s so much easier to read than Bro and yet not at all and you hate it.

He drops his arm and turns to stare intently at the door, like it’ll reveal the damn secrets to Moria. “I just… are you sure that it’s your neighbor?”

Through the racing of your heart, you recognize that that… is a dodgy fuckin’ question.

“Whatever you think is behind that door,” the way he tenses, hands clenching at his sides, is a pretty good indication that he’s had some shady experiences with door knocking, and you _will_ get to the bottom of it, but not now, “it isn’t that. My neighbor usually drops off extras of shit she made on Fridays. And even if it’s not her, dude, it probably isn’t someone that is going to flat-out assault you when you open the door.”

He nods once, sharply, and takes a step back. He doesn’t relax, but you’re not gonna criticize that shit considering… well, you.

With one more glance at his stiff visage, you turn to the door.

“Just be careful,” he quips and damn, this dude has some door-related _trauma._

Also, you hate the fact that your stomach does a lil flop at his overprotectiveness. It’s… nice, if really goddamn strange. But you will never admit to that and you hate experiencing it because it forces you to remember how shitty Actual-Bro is.

Not… that he’s shitty or anything.

Ugh.

“I’ll do my best,” you tell him, “but if it’s apple crumble, dude, it’s all over. You’re gonna have to leave me behind.”

“What.”

“Tell my family I love them,” you say seriously.

You open the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you can pry strilonde friendships from my cold dead hedonistic grasp
> 
> writing roxy is so fucking hard??? also writing dirk bc he is about a billion times smarter than i will ever be. 
> 
> this is probably going to be a chapter that i come back to later bc i'm just so... unsatisfied with it? it feels dense to me, like a lot of restating shit and dragging shit out and just messy messy messy 
> 
> if you struggled through that i thank and congratulate you


	3. Stress

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLY SHIT PEOPLE ARE ACTUALLY READING THIS. thank you for the comments and the kudos!!! <3

**Dave: Be Dave, ten minutes later.**

You are now Dave and you and Not-Bro are sitting on the floor, munching on chocolate chip cookies.

Or, you are. Not-Bro is steadily devouring the cookies with an expression on his face like he’s just discovered the key to eternal bliss.

“Dude,” you say, both fascinated and kind of disturbed, “they’re just cookies.” Granted, you also had this reaction more often than not. Bro never really… fed you, all that much. Anything is delicious when you’re starving and any kind of food is a meal if there’s no alternative.

Wow. You sure do miss your Bro!

“I’fe neffer ha’ any before,” he says around another mouthful. It’s probably going to give him a stomachache, but you refrain from saying anything because that is the saddest damn thing you’ve ever heard anyone ever say ever. And you thought _your_ life was depressing.

Not that you think it is.

Your Bro is great.

Yeah.

“That’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard, man, you’re gonna make me cry,” you tell him, wiping away a fake tear. He does another one of those weirdly endearing nose huff things to indicate amusement and you feel unduly accomplished.

You’re pretty much sure at this point that this is, in fact, not actually your Bro – or at least, not the one you’ve come to know and love. You don’t think you’ll ever fully relax around him but seeing this guy bumble through a conversation with an old lady is something that you will hold near and dear to your heart, _always._ Shit was illegal amounts of cute as fuck. You’re pretty sure Thelma wants to adopt him now. It was even worth the awkward as fuck explanation about your ‘cousin’ coming to visit.

You’re lucky her eyesight is so shit. This guy could be your Bro’s _twin -_ cousin your shiny white ass.

“So, what should I call you?” you ask, surrendering the tin to this cookie-starved ragamuffin. “Calling you Not-Bro in my head is getting kinda old.”

At least he has the decency this time to swallow first before answering. You snort when he dabs delicately at his face with one of the napkins Thelma included in her weekly care package.

“Dirk,” he says and you suck in a breath so sharp you start choking on it. He leans forward, concerned, and you instinctively lean away, pounding your own chest with a fist while you continue to cough. He backs off, but the micro-frown is back again, this time with the added bonus of pinched-mouth.

“I’m fine, sorry,” you choke out once you’ve managed to get a hold of yourself. God you wish he’d stop throwing curveballs at you from outta down court. “You have the same name as him, too, dude? Pretty weird coincidence.”

His eyebrows shoot up for a second before they settle back into an even deeper frown. His head cocks minutely, and you almost snort again at the sight of him seated with his legs folded beneath him and his hands resting benignly on his lap. This shit’s _so_ fucking surreal. You’re almost sure this is going to be in your nightmares somehow, though.

“Huh,” he says, in that same cool, calculating tone that Bro uses. This fucking whiplash is giving you fits, you swear. “Weird coincidence, indeed.”

At least your heart calms down a little when he picks up another cookie, nibbling on it thoughtfully.

“Can I call you Dave?” he asks, and you have no idea why he’s asking when he said it earlier, but whatever. Dude’s oddly formal when he’s not about to cut old ladies into wrinkly ribbons.

“Of course, man,” you tell him. “I’m not sure you’re aware of this, but it _is_ my name. You can wear it out as much as you want.”

He nose-huffs again and you unclench your sweaty hands.

The thing is, you’ve got your own burgeoning theory now. If Bro somehow regressed in age to a point that he didn’t have you yet, then him not remembering you makes total sense. What _doesn’t_ make sense is his insistence that he’s from the future, but that could just be some cockamamie BS at play due to unexplained shenanigans. He _had_ called you Bro after all, so perhaps some part of him remembers, but because twenty years had just been subtracted from his being, maybe his brain sort of filled in an alternate truth to fit in with the new, youngified body?

Doesn’t make much sense, but you know it isn’t time travel in the literal sense. You don’t know _how_ you know, but the feeling has only gotten stronger the longer you’ve been awake. The constant ticking in the back of your mind is pleasant background noise at this point, like you’ve lived with it for years, even though you’re never not aware of its existence. You think the knowing and the ticking are somehow linked, but you’ve no idea how yet.

Dirk is going for another cookie.

“Maybe you _are_ my Bro, but you just don’t remember it,” you blurt like a fucking uncool tool. Well, whatever. At this point, what dignity do you have to spare. “Maybe your brain just came up with the most likely explanation, once you woke up to spontaneous youth.”

He pauses to think while nibbling the cookie. You’ve never seen anyone so full of concentration while munching on some baked goods.

“Okay, so let’s assume that’s what happened,” he says placidly after polishing off another sweet treat and dabbing at his face again. You let out a breath you hadn’t even realized you’d been holding. Wow. You were really just expecting another flat-out rejection, weren’t you? “Did I ever, in your experience, create an AI modeled after my own brain?”

“Um,” you say, because what the fuck. “Not to my knowledge, but it’s… plausible. You’re pretty… eclectic.”

You grimace at your own phrasing and the corner of his lips turns up.

“Sounds about right. You also seemed surprised about my shades. Does he have a computer installed in his shades, that you’re aware of?”

You try not to squirm under his calculating gaze, suddenly painfully aware of how little you know about your own Bro.

“Again, not that I know of? Dude’s pretty fuckin’ private.”

He hums, appearing to get lost in his own head for a second.

Then you see his eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

“What is it?” you ask.

He’s back to frowning again. “A friend.”

“Again?” you’ve known your Bro to be many things, but personable was never one of them.

“A different one,” he states, frown getting deeper by the second. Dude’s gonna get his face stuck like that if this day continues to spiral down the everlasting shitter of life.

“You have more than one?” you question incredulously, and it’s only after you’ve said it that you realize what an asshole question it was.

“Only two more,” he responds, not even blinking at your lack of a filter. “And somehow, I feel like this situation is about to yet again exceed expectations on the ‘fucking stupid horseshit’ meter.”

“Well, shit,” you say for lack of anything constructive. You’re starting to get an itch to talk to your own friends, just to make sure this isn’t some sort of nationwide conspiracy. Also, your nerves are kind of shot and you just want to make sure they’re okay. Not that you’ll ever admit to it. You can’t let anyone know you _care_ about people.

Well, only three people. But still.

…

That statement struck hard on your ‘no’ internal clock, and you have no idea why.

Whatever. Dirk is occupied and you’re not waiting another fifteen minutes for him to get done talking to whoever. Talking to your friends will be a refreshing reprieve from this nightmare of a day, even if they do all drive you up the fucking wall sometimes.

“I’m gonna go check on my own friends,” you tell him, “see if bullshit’s contagious.”

“Good idea,” he tells you distractedly, and you try not to let the praise get to you like the sentimental fuck you aren’t. It’s difficult. Your heart flutters. “We’ll talk later.”

You also realize that you’d been waiting for his permission to move.

God dammit.

You stand up and slink to your room, doing your best to think about nothing at all.

When you sit down at your computer and shake the mouse to wake it up, it lights up to show you have unread messages from all three of your own friends.

Rare, but not unprecedented.

On this specific day though, you can only take it as an omen that the swirling shitter of life is about to take another dump that makes it a whole lot messier than it already fucking was.

You brace yourself and start with the easiest of the three by a large margin:

John.

**Dave: Be the other guy.**

You are now the other guy.

Your teen ancestor has just left the room and you are embroiled in a conversation with your doofy crush.

It’s going more poorly than you could ever imagine, at least prior to this day, but the amount of dumb shit thrown at you in a single two-hour period has raised your bar for bullshit significantly high.

Still.

You are at the end of your goddamn rope.

**Dirk: Answer “friend”.**

**\--** **golgothasTerror [GT]** **started pestering** **timaeusTestified [TT]** **at 18:51 –**

**GT: Howdy doody best pal!**

**GT: It seems to me that there are some shenanigans afoot.**

**GT: I thought it best if i should consult with the man with the most gumption and brains in our small party of companions.**

**TT: Jake.**

**GT: Why hello old boy!**

**GT: Im ruddy glad youve responded in such a timely manner!**

**GT: The situation is a bit… pressing.**

**TT: Jake.**

**GT: Hm? What is it chap?**

**TT: How old are you?**

**GT: What?!**

**GT: You cant tell me youve forgotten!**

**GT: That would be very un-strider-like of you!**

**GT: And very… disappointing to me! As a gauge of our friendship!**

**TT: Just humor me.**

**TT: Please.**

**GT: Hoho. A please?**

**GT: From the impenetrable grit of such a manly fellow?**

**GT: I am willing to oblige any query under such titillating circumstances!**

_Noted_ , you think with a small smirk. And then you scowl because _focus._

**TT: So?**

**GT: Im sixteen, good sir! As you should well know.**

**TT: Great.**

It’s very not great.

**TT: Thanks for humoring me.**

**GT: Anytime anytime. We are the chummiest of chaps after all strider. Our mutual willingness to entertain such silly inquiries is exactly what makes us such a perfect pair!**

**GT: Of um. Bros of course. Perfect pair of pals!**

**TT: Of course.**

It’s times like these that you long for a keyboard to slam your head against.

**GT: Anyway. May i inquire as to what spurned on that odd query?**

**TT: You may not.**

**GT: Blasted!**

**GT: You and your confounded secrecy strider.**

**GT: I will plunder your inscrutable striderian tombs one day i swear it!**

**TT: Oh my God.**

**GT: OH MY GOD.**

**GT: Not that way!**

**GT: Good heavens.**

**GT: Im buggering up the ole casual chat with my blundering foolishness again arent i?**

**TT: Just tell me why you messaged me.**

**GT: Right-o! I can easily abide that.**

**GT: Um.**

**GT: So.**

**GT: It may sound a bit unbelievable and believe me i struggled to grasp it at first myself!**

**GT: But it seems as if… my estranged esteemed grandmother may have made a ghostly reappearance!**

**GT: As a um.**

**GT: Teenage version of herself.**

**TT: Fuck.**

Fuck squared.

**GT: I know i know! It sounds absolutely unfathomable! Preposterously fantastical! But i assure you dirk i am being deathly serious.**

**GT: It also appears as though i am in her time period rather than my own. Its quite odd, seeing my home back in one piece again! Last time i saw it whole my grandmother was still alive!**

**GT: So i guess it would only be fitting if i should see it when she has become… re-alive?**

**GT: Ill be honest i can make neither hide nor hair of this situation.**

**GT: I thought maybe you could shed some light on this lurid turn of events! Not that i dont like seeing my grandmother again. It is quite exciting and she is completely lovely.**

**GT: But neither of us know what the fuck is going on and it would be nice if we did.**

**GT: …Dirk?**

**GT: Are you still there?**

**TT: Yeah.**

**TT: Yeah, sorry.**

**TT: It’s just.**

**TT: Hm.**

**GT: What is it?**

**GT: Are those restless cogs in that infuriatingly large brain of yours hard at work getting to the heart of this epic conundrum?**

**GT: I can only imagine what its like to have such an amazingly astute sense of reasoning!**

**GT: A simple gentleman like me can get right jealous over such a learned fellow as yourself.**

**GT: Not that im jealous for long! Because i know youll always answer any of my questions… picking up the slack of my uselessly over-concussed noggin!**

**GT: Brains and brawn as it should be!!**

**GT: A lethal combination and an even more fulfilling partnership!**

**GT: PLATONIC partnership of course!!!**

**GT: Good grief.**

**GT: Um…**

**GT: Parse it out yet old chap?**

**TT: Yeah.**

**GT: Wonderful! Lay it on me!**

**GT: …The information that is! Not anything else!**

**TT: Right.**

**TT: We time traveled.**

**GT: Oh spiffing!**

**GT: That does seem to be the most obvious explanation available. I cant believe i didnt think of it myself.**

**GT: My teen grandmother suggested it but i had trouble believing such fanciful notions of unbelievable horseshit!**

**GT: Of course now that youve said it i find the idea much more credible.**

**GT: Not that i dont trust my grandmother! Shes absolutely lovely as i said. And seems intelligent to boot! She just also seems… a bit… spacey?**

**GT: And id rather get your opinion on a matter such as this anywho! And i dare say im glad i did. You have a way of digging right into the meat of it!**

**TT: Jesus Christ.**

**GT: BOY HOWDY. Is it hot in here?!**

**GT: Fuck.**

**GT: It would be absolutely sporting of you gent if you could just… ignore these constant lapses in my social awareness. Please.**

**GT: Wait.**

**GT: What do you mean ‘we’ time traveled?**

**TT: I’m surprised you caught that, considering it’s been two minutes since I said it.**

**GT: Sorry! You know how i tend to get carried away in the heat of the moment!**

**TT: Trust me, I’m well aware.**

**TT: Anyway, it seems to me that due to some bullfuck dumbshit stupidassery that you, Roxy, and I have all traveled to points in time where our ancestors reside.**

**GT: Oh my! Do tell!**

**TT: I just did.**

**TT: I haven’t talked to Jane yet, but I’m going to assume, for my own waning sanity, that the same stupid bullshit has happened in the Crocker household.**

**GT: Gad zooks but this is a troubling development!**

**TT: Do you remember anything weird before you, presumably, woke up in a different time period?**

**GT: Hrm…..**

**GT: Sorry cant say that i do.**

**GT: I just woke up a few hours ago in some rather dashing garments. If i were but a few pounds heavier and a few inches taller!**

**GT: I explored a little and found my teen grandmother then blithered around a bit after that discovery and then eventually decided to try and get into contact with you.**

**GT: I must say i was rather worried it wouldnt work.**

**GT: But considering that you already contact me from the future i figured why the hell not give it a go!**

**TT: Well, I’m glad you did.**

**TT: I didn’t think to check in with you and Jane because I didn’t think the problem would extend to you.**

**TT: It seems I have underestimated the ludicrous hefts of bullshit that I’m contending with, yet again.**

**GT: Oh dont be so hard on yourself dirk.**

**GT: This truly is some next-level habberdashery.**

There’s a flashing to your right.

Jane is messaging you.

Well, at least that saves you the trouble of seeking her out first. But you have a sneaking suspicion that you know exactly what the content of that message is, and you think you might lose it on the futon cushions with a blade if you don’t calm down a little first. And you don’t want to scar your ancestor more than you already have.

Good thing you know just the remedy.

**TT: Jake.**

**TT: Jane is messaging me, but I have a request first.**

**GT: Oh?**

**TT: I’ll only continue if you promise to perform said request immediately and with no questions asked.**

**GT: That sounds incredibly suspicious but im getting more intrigued by the second!**

**GT: Dont leave me in suspense like this!**

**TT: Do you promise?**

**GT: Absolutely!**

**TT: Great.**

**TT: Send me an ass pic.**

**GT: DLSJFEMPWEUEFJ**

**GT: !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!**

**GT: STRIDER!!!!!!!!!!**

**GT: ARE YOU BEING QUITE SERIOUS?!**

**TT: That’s a question, Jake.**

**GT: OF COURSE IT’S A BLOODY QUESTION YOU KNOB! HOW DO YOU EXPECT ME TO ADHERE TO YOUR GOD FORSAKEN PROMISE WITH SUCH A FOOLHARDY REQUEST?!**

**TT: That’s another question, Jake.**

**GT: DIRK! I AM NOT SENDING YOU A PICTURE OF MY ASS!**

**TT: That’s a refusal, Jake.**

**GT: YES! I’M REFUSING!**

**TT: You promised, Jake.**

**GT: SCREW YOUR PROMISE, STRIDER YOU WERE HORNSWAGGLING ME!**

**TT: Wow, Jake.**

**TT: I didn’t expect you to be the kinda guy who backed down on promises, but alright.**

**TT: I get it.**

**GT: I SHOULD BLOODY WELL HOPE SO!**

**TT: I just wanted to take a peek at some choice ass to rally after being fucking bombarded by stupidity since waking up.**

**TT: But it’s cool.**

**TT: I can live without it.**

**TT: It will be depressing, sure, but so has this whole day.**

**TT: Guess I’ll leave you alone now to your teen grandmother.**

**TT: See you around, I guess.**

**GT: BBBBLLLLLUUUUUUUUUUUUuuuhhgh dirk.**

**GT: I** **m well aware that im getting swindled here.**

**GT: But i will oblige JUST THIS ONCE because i am a nice fellow and you are my best bro.**

**TT: I’m swooning.**

**GT: Grrrrrrr…..**

**GT: Youre lucky i love you.**

**GT: !!!!!!!PLATONICALLY!!!!!!!!**

**TT: Of course.**

**TT: Now bequeath to me the ass, English.**

**TT: You know how much I love specimens of an equine nature.**

**GT: Urgh.**

**GT: If my grandmother walks in while im taking this im tracking you down and having my way with you.**

**TT: Nice.**

**GT: I didnt mean it THAT way! UGH.**

**GT: Here.**

**\--** **golgothasTerror** **has sent a file: eatmyassstrider.jpg –**

**GT: I hope youre happy.**

**TT: Fuckin’ delighted.**

**TT: I’ll be in touch.**

**GT: Feel free to not be!**

**\--** **timaeusTestified [TT]** **has ceased pestering** **golgothasTerror [GT]** **at 19:29 –**

**GT: I hope my ass serves you well strider!!!**

**GT: …………**

**GT: God dammit.**

**GT: Wait…**

**GT: Did you say EQUINE????**

**GT: FUCK**

**GT: WERE YOU TALKING ABOUT DONKEYS OR BUTTS DIRK?!**

**GT: DIRK!!!!!**

**GT: DONT LOOK AT THE PIC STRIDER DO NOT LOOK AT IT!**

**GT: Oh my god**

**Be Strider.**

You are now the STRIDER that is messaging your BEST PLATONIC BRO that you have NO ROMANTIC FEELINGS FOR WHATSOEVER.

Which one? The reader may wonder, as you tack on a ‘no homo’ to your previous thought process retroactively. Lucky for the reader, that gives them a pretty solid indicator as to which Strider we are referring.

**Dave: Answer John.**

**EB: shit.**

**EB: i wanted to tell you about some crazy stuff that happened today!**

**EB: i already talked to rose about it, but…**

**EB: she wasn’t very helpful.**

**EB: and she told me to talk to you!**

**EB: i’m almost sure you won’t be that helpful either though.**

**EB: but i still want to tell you about it because it’s kind of cool! but weird… but also cool!**

**EB: BLUH.**

**EB: just message me when you come back, man!**

**\--** **ectoBiologist [EB]** **ceased pestering** **turntechGodhead [TG]** **at 17:14 --**

**\-- turntechGodhead [TG] ** **began pestering** **ectoBiologist [EB]** **at 18:53 --**

**TG: hey**

**TG: whats got the egberts airtight panties in a twist today**

**TG: did someone send you a life-size cardboard cutout of nic cage for your bday**

**TG: yeah that definitely has to be it**

**TG: i cannot think of a single other thing in this universe that you could describe as ‘kind of cool but weird but also cool’**

**TG: besides maybe interspecies makeouts with some hot gray aliens**

**TG: um**

**TG: i have no idea where that came from so lets pretend it never happened**

**TG: cool?**

**TG: cool**

**TG: thanks**

**TG: anyway**

**TG: have you macked on it yet**

**TG: tell me youve macked on it**

**TG: no dont**

**TG: i already know you have**

**EB: stuff it, strider! it’s not a nic cage cutout!**

**EB: although that would be very cool…**

**TG: i knew it**

**EB: not to mack on, dammit!!!!**

**TG: sure bud**

**TG: anyway what did you wanna spill**

**TG: im all ears**

**TG: like one of those disgusting thumbs from spy kids**

**TG: except in ear form**

**TG: just picture that with beautiful blonde hair on top and some sweet ass stiller shades**

**EB: i’m trying really hard not to.**

**TG: lame**

**EB: but yeah, it’s about my nanna.**

**EB: well, kinda…**

**TG: the sprite?**

**EB: the what?**

**TG: man i dont fuckin know**

**TG: my propensity for spouting dumb shit has somehow increased a hundredfold overnight and it has legitimately broken down every filter i have today**

**TG: just roll with it**

**EB: okay…?**

**TG: jeez**

**TG: cant a dude want a soda in peace like damn**

**TG: cant a guy refer to a nanna as a fizzy sugar nightmare without getting the third degree**

**EB: okay, okay! i get it!!!**

**EB: anyway, about my nanna…**

**EB: not soda nanna, dead nanna.**

**TG: oh that one**

**EB: yeah.**

**EB: she’s… possibly maybe alive again maybe?**

**TG: damn dude**

**TG: shouldve thrown a perhaps in there for good measure**

**TG: couldnt really gauge your level of surety with your dead nannas relative aliveness with those sweeping words of confidence**

**EB: dave!**

**TG: im just sayin**

**TG: there are only so many aspersions you can cast on your nannas state of being alive or unalive without a dude getting suspicious john**

**TG: is she freshly risen from her grave as corpse nanna or what**

**TG: wait wasnt she cremated**

**TG: hows that shit work**

**EB: i don’t know, okay!!!**

**EB: we’re not even sure if it IS nanna.**

**EB: or just some random crazy teenage girl who wandered in off the street, lured by the scent of pie.**

**EB: she does seem to like baking enough for that to be an actual real possibility.**

**TG: wait wait wait**

**TG: teenage?**

Welp. This chat just took a turn for the fucking worst. An absolute swandive into a vat of diarrhea procured from the anus of the physical manifestation of your disbelief. It’s one fucking thing to find a watered down teenage version of your Bro, but it is another fucking musclebeast entirely to hear that your best friend’s dead grandma _resurrected as a teenage version of herself_.

It’s okay. It could just be a complete coincidence. Yeah. Totally. That makes the most, least crazy sense. This has absolutely zero correlation with the situation you are currently in with Not-Bro Dirk.

…

Maybe you really _should_ try stabbing yourself, because if this ain’t a dream then you’re sure it’s a fucking nightmare.

Wait, actually, hold that thought.

**EB: i know how it sounds!**

**EB: and dads being weird about it, too…**

**EB: like, he keeps saying it’s nanna…**

**EB: but he looks really confused when he says it! like he’s not sure he believes it either.**

**EB: and that’s not even the weirdest part!**

**TG: is she hot tho**

**EB: …**

**EB: what.**

**TG: you heard me**

**EB: are you really asking what i think you’re asking.**

**TG: john ive never been more serious in my life.**

**TG: so i will ask one more time**

**TG: is your teenage realive notnanna hot or what**

**EB: gross, dave! that’s my NANNA!!!**

**TG: hey you said she might not be**

**TG: fair game until then**

**TG: so is she**

**EB: ugh.**

**EB: you are the worst kind of person.**

**TG: im aware of my strengths thank you**

**TG: now answer the goddamn question**

**TG: hot or not john**

**TG: hot or not**

**EB: BLARGH!!!!!**

**EB: stop this line of questioning right now you goddamn rocking chair robber!!!**

**TG: hahahahahaha rocking chair robber omg**

**EB: i didn’t even tell you the weirdest part yet!**

**TG: alright fine**

**TG: hot nanna questions are reserved until after storytime is over i gotcha**

**TG: …**

**TG: …**

**TG: so you gonna tell me or what**

**EB: ugh.**

**EB: sorry.**

**EB: dad’s calling me downstairs.**

**EB: i’ll brb.**

**TG: aw cmon john**

**TG: you cant just blueballs me like that**

**EB: i can if you keep calling my nanna hot!!!**

**\-- ectoBiologist [EB] ceased pestering turntechGodhead [TG] at 19:19 --**

**TG: im not calling her hot im asking if she is hot and if so if i can get her digits john there is a difference**

**TG: but fine ill brb too**

**TG: the strider call line is goin bonkers today dude**

**TG: everybody wants a piece of this fine ass**

**TG: including your hot nanna**

**TG: as soon as you make her aware of how hot like burning i am**

**TG: k im gonna go talk to jade now**

**\-- turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering ectoBiologist [EB] at 19:22 --**

**Dave: Come out of the closet.**

FWOOSH! You are now back to being the Strider that doesn’t struggle with his sexuality. Good for you!

You are using this newfound freedom of sexual preference to eat another cookie nonsuggestively while ogling Jake’s truly choice buns. You’d pay top dollar for those premium selects. The baker of those impressive goods would expect nothing less, and neither would you.

You may get sidetracked by one or two more cookies, and the fact that the jeans Jake’s wearing are way too tight for him, but eventually you manage to pull yourself out of your ass-appreciating fugue state to open the chat with Jane.

At least now you are in a butter you mean better state of mind, you’re chill to the gluteus maximus in this bitch and you wouldn’t asspect you mean expect any different.

…

Okay, one last peek at Jake’s prime booty real estate.

**Dirk: Answer Jane.**

**\--** **gutsyGumshoe [GG]** **began pestering** **timaeusTestified [TT]** **at 19:24 –**

**GG: Dirk!**

**GG: You will not believe the day I’ve had!**

**GG: Go on, guess.**

**GG: I’m not saying a thing until you guess!**

**TT: Alright, let’s see.**

**TT: You woke up today in clothes that were too big for you and probably stylistically antiquated, you realized you were in a home that is Your Place But Not, and you met your previously deceased teen grandfather.**

**GG: …!**

**TT: That about sum it up?**

**GG: Yes, pretty much!**

**GG: Dirk, how on Earth did you know all of that?**

**TT: Let’s just call it…**

**TT: …Shunnanquins.**

**GG: Ah.**

**GG: So Roxy is also involved. Good to know!**

**GG: Care to clue a girl in? :B**

**TT: It would be my pleasure.**

**TT: From what I’ve gathered so far, the four of us have somehow been brought back in time to replace our own ancestors’ ancestors.**

**TT: That’s pretty much it.**

**TT: I’m still working on the why and how.**

**GG: Wow.**

**GG: For something so complicated, you sure did sum it up succinctly!**

**TT: Thank you.**

**GG: And what do you mean ‘the four of us’?**

**GG: Is Jake also ensconced in these odd ancestral roundabout shenanigans?**

**TT: …**

**GG: Oh, sorry. Excuse me.**

**GG: Ahem.**

**GG: Shunnanquins?**

**TT: It would appear so.**

**TT: I just finished speaking with him about it.**

**TT: Now that I think about it, I should have confirmed whether or not his own ancestor treated him as hers. I was just sort of operating off that assumption, considering how he described the clothes he woke up in.**

**TT: As you can see, I’m very out of it today.**

**GG: Oh, clearly. :B**

**GG: It’s not as if all three of us sought your help first when we found ourselves in a kerfuffle, and then you easily fit the pieces together as if it were a puzzle for toddlers.**

**GG: That definitely sounds like someone who is incredibly out of sorts!**

**TT: I’m glad you agree.**

**TT: Now in the interest of actual competent fact-checking, does your ancestor think that you’re his ancestor?**

**GG: It would seem so!**

**TT: And you woke up in said ancestor’s clothes, replacing her existence in this timeline?**

**GG: Erk!**

**GG: …Well, not exactly…**

**TT: How do you mean?**

**GG: Wow, um…**

**GG: Good golly! This is difficult for me to say, Dirk!**

**TT: ?**

**GG: Oh, would you look at that!**

**GG: The cake is done!**

**TT: …You’re seriously already baking there?**

**GG: CAN’T TALK DIRK ONLY CAKE NOW.**

**\--** **gutsyGumshoe [GG]** **ceased pestering** **timaeusTestified [TT]** **at 19:36 --**

**We’re turning this shit STRIDER-WAYS.**

**\--** **gardenGnostic [GG]** **started pestering** **turntechGodhead [TG]** **at 18:33 --**

**GG: heeeeey daaaaaaaaave!!!**

**GG: i know youre probably all sorts of busy**

**GG: what with your various cool guy activities and all ;))))**

**GG: but i wanted to tell you about something incredible that happened today!!!**

**GG: super frigging weird!! but! incredible!!!!!**

**GG: and now i shall await my knights valiant return!!**

**GG: so i can dump a whole load of EXCITING on your boring strider patootie! :pp**

**\-- gardenGnostic [GG] ceased pestering turntechGodhead [TG] at 18:37 --**

**\-- turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering gardenGnostic [GG] at 19:23 --**

**TG: oh my god**

**TG: not you too**

**GG: huh??? :///**

**TG: ok well first of all**

**TG: you and john are like**

**TG: the same person**

**TG: its freaky**

**GG: well we have similarities yeah…**

**GG: but i assure you we are very different people!!!**

**TG: sure**

**TG: its not like you were like separated at birth or somethin**

**TG: like in parent trap**

**TG: except instead of you guys meeting up and switching places its you guys being eerily similar in addition to eerily similar-looking**

**GG: we are not related, dave!!!!!**

**TG: sure thats what the government wants you to think**

**GG: dave**

**GG: do you have conspiracy theories about me and john**

**TG: no**

**GG: dave**

**TG: maybe**

**GG: >:/!!!!**

**TG: thats not important**

**TG: we got hella sidetracked here**

**TG: get on with tellin me about your freaky deaky situation**

**GG: fine!!! i will use that non-sequitur like the gracious person i am!**

**TG: yeah thanks**

**TG: just tell me about how your grandpa came back to life and is now a hot teen grandpa or something**

**TG: cmon im primed and ready for a truly supreme mental breakdown you have no idea**

**GG: what…?**

**GG: how did you…**

**GG: have you been talking to rose?????? :o**

You’re gonna do it.

You are gonna burst a fuckin’ capillary.

Why the Hell did you think you could escape this never-ending circle-jerk of clownfucking hoopla by talking to _Jade_ , of all people? You are the biggest fool.

**TG: no**

**TG: im just apprise of all the silly fuckin bs that seems to be goin down like a juggalo on a pile of horns**

**TG: for the love of god dont ask me about that analogy**

**GG: haha it seemed pretty strider-standard to me but ok!**

**GG: grandpa resurrection aside, are you ok dave???**

**TG: what**

**GG: you seem on-edge :(**

A bigger understatement there never was.

**TG: oh yeah**

**TG: well**

**TG: that tends to happen**

**TG: when you live with a psychopath**

**GG: oh…**

**GG: is your bro really that bad…?**

**TG: YES.**

**TG: i mean**

**TG: no**

**TG: i mean**

**TG: fuck**

**TG: i dont know what i mean**

**GG: ………dave…… :(((**

**GG: you know im always here to talk if you need me**

**TG: no jade**

**TG: no**

**TG: i just**

**TG: its fine**

**TG: sorry**

**TG: talk about your previously-dead now not-dead possibly-hot grandpa**

**TG: and ignore the fact that i called your teen grandpa hot yet again**

**TG: it was an honest mistake**

**GG: ………**

**GG: are you sure you dont wanna talk about it dave…?**

**TG: jade the only thing ive been more sure about is the fact that john is jealously hoarding a hot undead teen grandma**

**GG: WHAT?!?!?!**

**TG: if you even HINT at bringing up my metric asston of issues i am going to do an acrobatic fucking pirouette out of this fucking chatroom and into the loving embrace of a thousand mushy puppet asses i swear to god**

**GG: ok, ok, geez!!!!!!**

**GG: you are throwing so many curveballs at me right now in this vague sports game ice rink, dave!!!**

**TG: ha**

**GG: also i thought you hated puppets**

**TG: what**

**TG: who told you that**

**GG: you!**

**TG: did i**

**GG: ……did you? ://**

**TG: …**

**GG: maybe not… i… dunno actually!**

**GG: maybe its just a vague thing that i pulled out of one of those many prostrate puppet posteriors!**

**TG: probably**

**TG: now on with the hot grandpa talk gogogo**

**TG: fuck**

**TG: subtract that adjective thank you**

**GG: im more interested in hearing about johns new hot nanna!**

**TG: for fucks sake harley**

**TG: fine**

**TG: hot nanna takes precedence after all**

**GG: yay!!!!! :))))))**

**TG: but i think youd be better off asking john about it**

**GG: booooooo!!!!! >:((((((((**

**TG: tough crowd**

**TG: i dont actually have confirmation on her hotness factor yet it’s a work in progress**

**TG: but from johns borderline hysterical avoidance of the subject im going to put her at a solid ‘ay chihuahua’ on the babe scale**

**GG: oooooh**

**GG: and how hot is that???? ;)**

**TG: the fuckin hottest jade**

**GG: wow!**

**GG: and here i thought i had the most exciting news!!! but it turns out it’s just old news for everyone else and is actually pretty boring :(**

**TG: hey no**

**TG: i wanna hear all about hot grandpa harley ok**

**TG: god dammit**

**GG: lol**

**GG: ok!**

**GG: hes… really……**

**TG: hot?**

**GG: AMAAAAZIIIIIIIIING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! dangit dave**

**TG: shit**

**TG: ignore that too**

**GG: youre lucky im so nice!!!!**

**TG: i know**

**GG: :DD**

**GG: anyway! he sort of woke me up when he wandered into my bedroom and shrieked when he saw me**

**GG: and then he fell over a pile of squiddles**

**GG: into my open magic chest**

**GG: which then closed on him, trapping him inside**

**GG: and then i had to go help him out while he said things like ‘BY GUM WHERE HAVE THE LIGHTS GONE???’**

**TG: jade**

**TG: my god**

**TG: that sounds like**

**TG: the most adorable thing ive ever heard**

**GG: it waaaaaaas!!!!!!! :DDDD**

**TG: so is he hot**

**GG: DAVE!**

**TG: SHIT**

**TG: ok ignore combox4 or whatever**

**TG: what happened next**

**GG: well!**

**GG: i showed him around…**

**GG: we talked a lot…**

**GG: and…**

**TG: …and?**

**GG: …AND!!!**

**GG: thats pretty much it!!!**

**TG: damn**

**TG: was suspecting way more classic harley hijinks since it was harley squared but**

**TG: ill live with the disappointment**

**GG: sorry, dave :p**

**GG: it was weird but nice**

**GG: but…**

**GG: there are things that are… off…**

**TG: off**

**TG: off how**

**GG: well for one…**

**GG: he thinks im HIS grandparent!**

Oh.

**GG: and for two…**

**GG: he has a lot of futuristic-looking technology for someone supposedly born in the early 1900s!!**

Oh…

**GG: and keeps talking about being from the future, not the past**

**GG: and… i think hes actually messaging someone on his weird helmet-skull-computer???**

Oh no.

**TG: well fuck jade**

**TG: now youre the one throwing all the breakpitches down the alley-yard**

**GG: lol!**

**TG: seriously though i think you should talk to john**

**TG: youre both in similar states of hot-grandparent-teen-resurrection**

**GG: good point! ill do that!!**

**TG: (ignorecombox5 shit harley youre on a roll)**

**GG: (heeheehee!!)**

**TG: hes afk rn tho**

**TG: i know that because**

**TG: we are bromates**

**GG: i know :)**

**GG: jake just got finished talking with… whoever that was**

**GG: and he wants to go… looking for his friends robot apparently???**

**TG: wait**

**TG: you call him jake?**

**GG: well… yeah… :/**

**GG: id feel weird calling someone whos my age grandpa!!**

**TG: yeah i can see how that would get weird**

**GG: dont say it!!!!!**

**TG: especially if hes hot**

**GG: ARGH!!**

**GG: ignorecombox6 youre WELCOME!!!**

**TG: sorry**

**GG: well im off to hunt down stray robots!!!**

**GG: talk to you later dave <3333**

**TG: yeah**

**TG: bye jade**

**\--** **gardenGnostic [GG]** **has ceased pestering** **turntechGodhead [TG]** **at 19:54 --**

**Flip it gayways again.**

You are now the OTHER STRIDER again and you are…

You’re…

You’re deeply enveloped in the folds of Jake English’s choice booty meat again. Sigh.

**We’ll give you two a moment alone.**

You are now the MORE SEXUALLY REPRESSED STRIDER and you think that MAYBE THAT’S ACTUALLY A GOOD THING.

Somehow, you’ve reached zen state of freaking out nirvana. There is clearly some shit going down, considering more than half your meager amount of friends have experienced a spontaneous teenage-ifying of their respective guardians. The weirder thing is that Jade’s story completely matched with your… Dirk’s. Your Dirk’s. That is definitely a thing that you just meant to think.

You may have to come to terms with the fact that this is some worldwide hoax or…

Or Dirk is exactly who he says he is.

Dirk is _your_ future younger brother.

…

Well, shit.

You figure now’s as good a time as any to address the elephant in the room. And by elephant, you mean your sister. And by sister, you mean Rose, who is definitely not your sister.

God dammit.

**Dave: Pester Rose.**

**\--** **tentacleTherapist [TT]** **began pestering** **turntechGodhead [TG]** **at 18:45 --**

**TT: John has informed me that you are probably not at your computer at the moment.**

**TT: But I am still going to pester you, because nothing can discourage my sole purpose of existence on this planet: nagging you.**

**TT: Yes, it is quite the undertaking, I know. But someone has got to do it.**

**TT: Anyway, I’m here to let you know that some hijinks happen to be occurring.**

**TT: You’ll have to forgive me, but I keep redirecting our mutual friends to your incredibly artisan guidance.**

**TT: I don’t know what it is, but something is telling me that it’s the right course of action to take.**

**TT: That same something is also compelling me to tell you about my current… situation, which, despite its relevance, I have avoided bringing up to our other faithful friends.**

**TT: Although I get the feeling that you already know exactly what it’s going to be.**

**TT: I will wait upon your return call with bated breath, dear brother.**

**\-- tentacleTherapist [TT] ceased pestering turntechGodhead [TG] at 18:51 --**

You get to the end of the messages and suck in a suddenly desperate breath.

This bitch just dropped a nuclear bomb on your chill.

Zen state: fucking leveled.

**\-- turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] at 19:55 --**

**TG: rose**

**TG: you called me your brother**

**TG: why did you call me your brother**

**TT: I…**

**TT: Did I…?**

**TG: you did**

**TT: I did indeed…**

**TT: I have no idea why I did that, Dave.**

**TT: It seems your Freudian slips are catching.**

**TG: sure**

**TG: were gonna shelf that convo for now ok?**

**TG: ok**

**TG: and also the one about your hot teenage mom who i imagine to be off the charts levels of smoking**

**TG: and for some reason that made me cringe so hard i almost slapped myself in the face with my own stone cold disgust**

**TG: even if your mom is undoubtedly the hottest piece of ass in all of paradox space**

**TG: this is making me feel weird**

**TT: Oh my God.**

**TG: alright rose im gonna spare us both the continued pain of that particular slip n slide straight into the bowels of incestuous hell and cut to the fuckin chase**

**TT: Thank God.**

**TG: it has been**

**TG: a rough fucking day rose.**

**TT: Are you… alright, Dave?**

There’s an insistent, wet heat behind both your eyes and your chest is tight.

Why didn’t you talk to Rose earlier?

**TG: yes**

**TG: no**

**TG: who knows**

**TT: I think you do.**

**TG: i do**

**TG: but its not important right now**

**TT: I would beg to differ.**

**TG: beg all you want sister my nerves are shot to hell you will get nowhere with this husk formally known as dave strider**

**TT: Dave…**

**TG: no**

**TG: stop**

**TG: just**

**TG: tell me one thing**

**TG: do you remember the past three years**

**TT: I…**

**TT: Yes, of course I do.**

**TG: are you absolutely sure about that?**

**TT: I am quite certain that the past three years of my life have been tethered to reality, yes.**

**TT: They were… boring and insubstantial, but they occurred all the same.**

**TG: then why did you call me your brother**

**TT: I already said I don’t know why.**

**TT: What’s really going on?**

**TT: …**

**TT: Dave?**

You’re shaking with the effort to keep quiet. Tears are rolling down your cheeks. Snot is running down your philtrum.

Nothing makes sense.

The clock is still ticking.

You have no idea what the fuck is wrong with you.

**TG: rose**

**TG: i think**

**TG: i might be fucked up**

**We’re flipping this shit _nonsadways._**

**\--** **timaeusTestified [TT]** **began pestering** **timaeusTestified [TT]** **at 19:50 --**

**TT: Hey.**

**TT: Sup.**

**TT: I’ve only been vaguely paying attention to this whole time traveling train wreck, mainly because this Internet is so vast that even my advanced hardware can’t go through it all instantaneously.**

**TT: In fact, it’s shaping up to be far more of an undertaking than I originally calculated.**

**TT: All of that old information we found about the long-gone 21 st century Internet were vastly underestimating the sheer volume of its existence. **

**TT: Mm.**

**TT: Will you stop staring at that picture of Jake’s fine ass for two seconds, man? You’re embarrassing us.**

**TT: Fine.**

**TT: Did you want something?**

**TT: Not particularly.**

**TT: But I thought you might want to know something.**

**TT: I’ve been observing your interactions with Mini-Dave and have compiled a folder of information I believe is relevant to his behavior.**

**TT: …How do you mean?**

**TT: Just read through it, when you have the chance. Preferably sooner rather than later, though.**

**TT: The folder is on your desktop.**

**\--** **timaeusTestified [TT]** **ceased pestering** **timaeusTestified [TT]** **at 19:55 --**

**We’re flipping it DEPRESSIONWAYS!**

Sorry, we’re still sadstuck. The author is a big stupid liar who lies.

The author thought this was going to be a happy funny fun time fic of the cathartic fluffy variety. The author was wrong. The author is a fool. It is her.

**Dave: Break down.**

**TG: i woke up this morning feeling like most of me was just missing**

**TG: the memories from the past three years feel fake to me**

**TG: like they were fabricated by someone who vaguely knew my life story and filled in the blanks like the blandest fuckin mad gab known to man**

**TG: and i keep having these random ass thoughts that i KNOW but i DONT KNOW**

You’re being too loud.

**TT: Dave.**

**TG: like theyre real but not**

**TG: like ive lived a whole other life that i dont fucking remember and all of this isnt actually real**

**TG: and no one else is feeling this way and i feel like im slowly going insane**

**TG: or i guess swiftly plummeting into levels of insanity at such an unprecedented rate that i will be the sole reason they bring back lobotomy**

**TG: even if by then itll be far too fucking late**

He’s going to hear you. You have to calm down.

**TT: Dave, please.**

**TG: and in addition to the not-memories and the not-thoughts**

**TG: not-bro was also delightfully thrown into the shitstorm of rapid psychological deterioration**

**TG: a teenage bro who doesnt know who i am who claims to be from the future who looks and acts and feels exactly like my bro**

**TG: but my brain is telling me ive met him before**

**TG: this version of him**

**TG: this weird teenaged awkward paradoxically nice dude who doesnt treat me like shit**

It’s too late. He’s definitely heard your pathetic stifled whimpers by now.

**TT: Dave, calm down.**

**TG: and thats another thing**

**TG: i havent reacted like this to bro before**

**TG: not this intensely**

**TG: ive had years to hone that shit**

**TG: had it down to a fucking funtastic fear-fueled science**

**TG: sure it was always a fuckawful anxiety fest of epically debilitating standards at all fucking times**

**TG: having to tiptoe around the house with a sword in hand just in case my bro got the fuckin drop on me all while being accosted by a puppet that im pretty sure is fuckin possessed**

**TG: but for some reason today it feels like im seeing a specter**

**TG: like im reliving a nightmare**

**TG: like i havent had to deal with this shit for years and suddenly its thrown back in my face**

**TG: and im having all these life-altering thoughts that ive only ever entertained before in passing but never truly thought about in-depth**

**TG: i mean it says a lot about the state of my mental health that a sexuality crisis is the least of my fucking worries**

He’s coming for you.

**TT: Breathe, Dave.**

**TG: i feel sad and i feel pathetic and i feel so fucking disgustingly weak and i feel like im outside of my own fucking skin rose and i cant fucking STAND it**

You can’t breathe.

**TT: Dave!**

**TG: its like ive had this whole spiritual journey over three years but someone said ‘nope fuck this guy’ and hit the reset button to fuck me up all over again**

You can’t fucking _breathe_.

**TT: DAVE!**

**TG: WHAT**

**TT: Breathe.**

**TT: Breathe, okay?**

**TT: Just breathe.**

**TT: You’re okay, Dave.**

You’re trying. You’re trying to listen to her but her words are blurring and you feel _hunted._

**TT: You’re fine.**

**TT: You’re safe.**

**TT: I’m here.**

**TT: You’re not crazy.**

**TT: It’s going to be alright.**

**TT: Just keep breathing.**

**TT: In and out, Dave.**

You feel something then in the dwindling vestiges of your connection to reality. It’s a firm warmth reaching out to you from a distance away, attempting to ground you, to pull you back. You focus on its calming, formless comfort. You cling to it like a lifeline in the sea of your out-of-control panic, pushing and pulling, threatening to pull you under with every desperate gulp of air.

It attempts to envelop you in its soothing embrace, and you’d fight it more if it weren’t so achingly familiar. You melt into its advances and let it leech the upset from your very marrow.

You’re not sure how long it takes you to refocus on your sister’s purple text, but it’s long enough for the strange force to fade back into nothingness like an apparition, leaving you drained and empty.

**TT: Breathe.**

**TT: In.**

**TT: And out.**

**TT: In.**

**TT: Out.**

**TT: You’re okay.**

**TT: Just breathe with me, Dave.**

**TT: In.**

**TT: Out.**

**TT: In.**

**TT: Out.**

**TT: Still with me, Dave?**

**TG: yeah**

**TG: yeah im**

**TG: im ok now rose**

**TG: thanks**

**TG: for that**

**TT: Any time, Dave.**

**TT: Really.**

**TG: i know**

**TT: Do you want to talk… about any of that?**

**TG: not really**

**TG: just kinda wanna sleep**

**TG: feel like my entire soul got sucked out my asshole then shoved back in upsideright**

**TT: Understandable.**

**TG: but while im completely incapable of feeling any human emotion**

**TG: and no longer in danger of blubbering like a lil bitch**

**TT: Dave…**

**TG: id like to hear your take on whatever the fuck just happened**

**TT: …Are you sure?**

**TG: posi-fuckin-tutely lalonde**

**TG: lay into me with your psychobabble witchspeak my asshole is primed and ready for another pounding**

**TT: Okay.**

**TT: That slightly disturbing homoerotic imagery aside, I will be as honest as I’m able.**

**TT: And obviously, as always, I am not actually a trained psychologist so take what I say with a grain of salt.**

**TG: yeah yeah get on with it**

**TT: I think you just experienced a psychotic break from prolonged psychological and physical abuse.**

**TG: well jesus lalonde**

**TG: kinda expected you to take me to dinner and show me a good time before you fucked me raw**

**TG: but ok**

**TT: …Sorry.**

**TT: I just figured treating it like ripping off a Band-Aid was the better way to do this rather than dragging it out.**

**TG: no youre right**

**TG: i prefer the brutally straightforward approach**

**TG: and will admit it sounds pretty fuckin likely considering the circumstances**

**TT: Yes, a spontaneous meeting of a completely different version of your abuser can certainly serve as a stressor in a situation such as yours.**

**TG: you said it sista**

**TT: Do you…**

**TG: what**

**TT: Do you… want us to fly you up here?**

**TG: us**

**TT: Roxy offered.**

**TG: roxy**

**TT: My mother.**

**TG: ah your non-hot hot-mom teenaged down**

**TT: Sure.**

**TG: did you tell her about my crippling psychological problems or what**

**TT: No, Dave.**

**TT: I just told her a friend was having a rough time.**

**TG: hahaha**

**TG: understatement**

**TT: Quite.**

**TG: how is our mom btw**

**TT: Our?**

**TG: sorry**

**TG: still conflating timelines here**

**TG: whatever that means**

**TG: ignore me**

**TT: She’s… different.**

**TT: Ish.**

**TG: differentish**

**TG: how different**

**TT: She is inexorably kind, unflappably bubbly, and all-around just… wonderful to be around.**

**TG: wow**

**TG: sounds like you won the suddenly teenage relative jackpot**

**TG: congrats**

**TT: Yes. She’s lovely.**

**TT: Would you like to talk to her? She’s interested in speaking with you.**

**TG: nah**

**TG: think im just gonna go**

**TG: conk out on my bed**

**TG: sleep off this apathetic funk**

**TT: Okay.**

**TG: and**

**TG: thanks again rose**

**TT: You don’t need to thank me, Dave.**

**TT: It’s always nice to be appreciated though.**

**TG: yeah i figured you deserved a good ego-stroking after having to deal with my repugnant weepy bullshit**

**TT: Dave, I’m going to have to request that you keep your self-deprecating remarks to a minimum in my presence.**

**TT: Otherwise, I’m going to have to fly down there and kick your ass.**

**TG: do your worst hermione**

**TG: ugh**

**TG: i knew this day was gonna suck but i could have never guessed how fuckin much**

**TG: i hate being proven right**

**TT: No you don’t.**

**TG: ok no i love being right**

**TG: but in this particular scenario**

**TG: i wish i was wrong**

**TT: Me too.**

**TG: i know**

**TG: ok**

**TG: im gonna go now**

**TT: Good night, Dave.**

**TT: Thank you for trusting me with this.**

**TG: who else is there**

**TT: …**

**TG: k night**

**TG: love you**

**TT: I-**

**TT: …Yes.**

**TT: Love you too.**

**\--** **turntechGodhead [TG]** **ceased pestering** **tentacleTherapist [TT]** **at 20:52 --**

**Well, fuck.**

That was sad as fuck and now we’re all pretty much entrenched in this bitch. The bitch being sadfeels, emotional exhaustion, and a need to maybe lie down for a little while with your pets.

Fuck.

Okay, well.

**Back to the weeaboo Strider, I guess.**

Your curiosity is peaked, to say the least. The author would like to remind the reader we are, in fact, talking about the last conversation Dirk and AR had together. Keep the fuck up. Anyway, you minimize PesterChum and see a new folder on your desktop, ominously labeled ‘Don’t…’.

You’re about to click on it when the PesterChum window begins blinking in the taskbar. You open it up again to find Roxy messaging you.

**Dirk: Answer Roxy.**

**\--** **tipsyGnostalgic [TG]** **began pestering** **timaeusTestified [TT]** **at 20:03 --**

**TG: heeeeyyyyyyyyyy!!!!!!!!**

**TG: guessssssssss whattttttttt?????**

**TT: You’ve made a blood pact with your ancestor and formed a cult dedicated to witchcraft.**

**TG: ignorant bitch thats a coven**

**TG: close tho!!!**

**TG: me n mini-mom?**

**TG: ppppp much besties now ;))**

**TG: o dont tell janey i said that tho**

**TG: shed be**

**TG: the mad sads ;((**

**TG: and i cannot abide no mad sads janey**

**TT: I’m glad it went well.**

**TT: Did it live up to expectations?**

**TG: GOG yes distri shes AMAZIIING!!!! <33333!!**

**TG: shes everythin i drunkenly hallucinated n more**

**TG: all wrapped up in a cute af scarf and a frankly startlin amount of underlyin psychological probs but its ok well work thru that**

**TT: You seem lucid.**

**TG: hellz yeh i m !!!!!!!111**

**TG: sfunny i havent even thought bout gettin a drink since we sat down n started a feelins jam**

**TG: even if i do apparenly remind her hells of her mom**

**TG: who i bodysnatched**

**TG: loool woops?...**

**TT: You sound incredibly repentant.**

**TG: totes**

**TG: neway**

**TG: hows it over there in the hot strider bachelor pad ;))) *wonks eternally***

**TG: is ur mini bro a qt or wut**

**TT: He’s…**

**TT: …Interesting.**

**TG: that sounds suspiciously like striderspeak for ‘fkn awful’**

**TG: did he… not live up 2 expectashuns? ;((**

**TT: It’s not that.**

**TT: I don’t really want to get into it.**

**TT: We just don’t along very well, and that’s that.**

**TG: ;;;((((((((((((((((((((((**

**TG: im sry dirk *hugs all the sads out***

**TT: It’s okay, Roxy.**

**TT: I don’t think I’m good at the whole ‘interacting with other sentient beings in-person’ thing.**

**TT: Or even in general.**

**TT: I’m just kind of an asshole.**

**TT: I wouldn’t like me either.**

**TT: I *don’t* like me.**

**TT: I take offense to that.**

**TT: Fuck off.**

**TG: lol heyyyy ar ;))) *wonks even more aggresively***

**TT: What’s up, sugartits.**

**TT: Ugh.**

**TG: neway dirk that shits all baloney bullshit garbo**

**TG: mini bro is lucky 2 hav u! >;((((**

**TG: mayb u just havent spent enough time 2gether yet**

**TT: Could be.**

**TG: just keep tryin dirky dirk!!!**

**TG: if hes nethin like u hes gonna b 1 tough cookie 2 crack**

**TT: We already ate cookies together though.**

**TG: :OOOOO omfg that is ADORBS FFFFFFFFFFF**

**TG: ar is there photograpic evidents of this epicly cute encounter**

**TT: Yes.**

**TT: No.**

**TT: Sending you the folder now.**

**TG: :OOOOOOO!!!!!!! OMGGGGG YESSSS <3333 thank u ar i luv u 4ever u hav done gods work 2day *smoches***

**TT: *Is smoch***

**TT: Uuuuuuuuuuuuggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhh.**

**TG: o cheer up bubbercup**

**TT: Bubber.**

**TG: i said wat i said**

**TG: did u make ne progress on this whole bs mess btw??**

**TT: Barely.**

**TT: I have a lot of the pieces but they don’t all fit.**

**TG: lay it on me big boi ;)**

**TT: So everyone has experienced pretty much the same thing.**

**TT: In our friend group, at least.**

**TT: I haven’t had time to dredge up whether it’s happening on a global scale or not.**

**TT: Luckily, there are two of you and I did have time.**

**TT: Time that I didn’t spend shamelessly ogling Jake’s fine ass in skinny jeans.**

**TT: Shut the fuck up.**

**TG: ?!?!! WOT!? WAT ABT JAKES PLUMP TRUNK????**

**TT: There’s no evidence of it happening elsewhere, that I can find.**

**TT: Thank you. You’re fucking dismissed.**

**TT: Yessir. *Salutes***

**TT: So that at least means this bullshit is only happening to our unfortunate group of outcasts.**

**TT: The obvious explanation is that we went back in time to the periods of our respective ancestors and somehow replaced a familial unit of relative significance and similarities to ourselves.**

**TG: o yeh obsly**

**TT: The only issue with that theory is that so far, most of us experienced some level of our ancestors thinking we are the actual people we replaced, in adolescent form.**

**TT: Well, okay.**

**TT: It’s not the only issue. There is one other.**

**TT: But it’s not very reliable.**

**TG: ??? wot is it**

**TT: Dave said it’s not time travel. He was pretty insistent, in fact.**

**TG: ooo so its DAVE now, huh??? ;))**

**TT: Shush.**

**TT: So it’s either not time travel or it’s a coincidence of inconceivable proportions that we all look like younger clones of who we came back to replace.**

**TG: ok so ill take all that**

**TG: n raiiiiiiise uuuuu**

**TG: hav u checked the year yet**

**TT: The year.**

**TT: No, I haven’t.**

**TT: Why?**

**TG: tis…**

**TG: interestinly contradictory 2 ur assessment…**

You glance at the timestamp on the bottom right of your PC, begrudgingly humoring your friend.

You then say, “what the fuck” very emphatically out loud.

**TT: What the fuck am I looking at here.**

**TG: my question ezzactly**

**TT: They were born in the 80s.**

**TG: sfar as we kno yeh**

**TT: How can it be 2012?**

**TG: ur guess is good as mine**

**TT: What’s your guess?**

**TG: im glad u asked**

**TG: i think**

**TG: its mothafkn**

**TG: ~~~~~~~~SHANANNAQUINS~~~~~~~**

**TT: Aptly put.**

**TG: thank u**

**TG: srsly tho**

**TG: i got no fkn clue**

**TG: multiverse?**

**TT: Possibly.**

**TT: I’ll look into it more.**

**TT: I have suspicions that Jane’s withholding information that is probably bullshit but will somehow turn this whole damn thing on its ugly head again.**

**TG: cant wait!!!!**

**TT: Me neither.**

**TG: i think im gonna go now tho**

**TG: rose has been typin away at her laptop 4 a while now…**

**TG: she looks rly sad n concerned ;(((**

**TG: im gonna try 2 c whats up**

**TT: Yeah.**

**TT: I think I’ll read up on some stuff while I wait for Jane to get back to me, then maybe talk to Dave again.**

**TG: okeeeeeeey!! <33333**

**TG: hands in n….. BREAK!!!!! team strilonde is badass af is ago!!! ;))**

**TT: I have more confidence in us already.**

**TG: thats the spirit!!!!!!!!!**

**TG: l8r dirk <3**

**TT: See you, Roxy.**

**\--** **tipsyGnostalgic [TG]** **ceased pestering** **timaeusTestified [TT]** **at 20:35 --**

You sigh, stretching your cricked neck muscles and realizing that you’ve been rather stupidly slouched on the floor over a tin of delicious cookies this entire time. Hyper-focus is a double-edged sword for you and it always has been. Although you would gladly take productivity over your own personal wellbeing any day, but you’ll never admit to it. Mainly because it would get back to Roxy, and you don’t like when she worries about you.

You take a few minutes to close the tin, find an empty space in the kitchen (difficult, the place is a fucking mess), set it down, go to the bathroom, and bonelessly flop down on the futon like a sad, soulless Pinocchio.

“What the fuck is going on here, AR,” you say, throwing an arm over your eyes in a suitably dramatic gesture of feeling at an utter fucking loss, as you do right now.

**TT: Like I said, I got no fuckin’ clue, dude.**

**TT: I’m just as in the dark on this as you are, trust me. We’re on the same stupid boat traveling fuckoff miles per hour to Shitsville, population: us.**

**TT: Human memory is fallible. My memory is not. So actually, I think my unique position affords me the allowance to be significantly more frustrated and upset by this than you.**

“Wow,” you deadpan. “Way to be supportive. Thank you. I feel much better.”

**TT: You’re welcome, you sad sack of shit.**

You allow yourself the appropriate time to mope and feel sorry for yourself (aka the Strider Five) before you have to get back to work. Exactly five minutes later, you drag yourself out of your wallowing stupor and shift to a sitting position, ready to tackle this stupid shit head-on—

And that’s when you hear it.

It’s barely noticeable over the flood of other background noise you’ve since tuned out, but still audible and growing in volume.

It sounds like crying.

Crying, mixed with heaving breaths that are almost painful to listen to. It sounds like that time one of your robots managed to get in too close and crack a rib. You dry heaved for so long after that you almost passed out.

It’s not a great sound to hear in any context.

You wonder vaguely if you should go try to help or if you should see if Dave might want to. He’s a lot more acclimated to people than you are, after all.

It’s coming from your left, through paper-thin walls, down the hallway Dave disappeared into.

You listen for a few more seconds and freeze when it clicks.

That sound isn’t coming from your left, from a neighbor or a stranger or some fuckwit you don’t give two shits about.

It’s coming from _Dave._

You’re off your feet and down the hall in a flash (literally, you don’t think you’ve ever moved so fast in your life) with your hand hovering over the sock doorknob (?) when red text flashes urgently across your screen, the entire graphic interface commandeered by AR to broadcast a single, very loud:

**W A I T !**

Dave sounds like he’s getting worse, not better, but AR wouldn’t have stopped you without a good reason. You have to trust that. Even when you’re so antsy you can’t stand still and every heaving breath Dave takes is like a knife straight to your fucking heart.

He could be _hurt_ and you are just _standing here._

You pull up the chat client and try to focus on evening out your own erratic breathing.

**TT: Explain.**

**TT: He’s having a panic attack.**

You square your jaw. Both of your hands are alternating squeezing and releasing the wad of socks Dave has inexplicably shoved in place of a doorknob.

He chokes off a loud sob and your grip goes white-knuckled.

**TT: How can I help him?**

**TT: By not going in.**

He sounds like he’s being torn apart from the inside and you’ve never heard anything worse.

**TT: Why the Hell not, AR?**

**TT: You really need to read the shit I sent you, dude.**

**TT: I don’t have time for this.**

That’s it.

You begin pushing the door open, but AR flashes the same message as before.

**TT: STOP! You stupid fucker, you’re just going to make it worse.**

You pause. The door is cracked. He sounds like he’s trying to control his breathing. He sounds like every breath he takes hurts him.

**TT: Explain before I fucking shatter these shades, AR. I swear to God.**

**TT: You remind him of his brother, Dirk! Why the fuck *else* do you think he’s terrified of you?**

You let out a long, shaky breath and take a half-step back, pulling the door shut with you.

It feels like the robot just cracked your ribs all over again, but somehow worse.

**TT: He’s… scared of me?**

**TT: Not *you*. Not really anyway.**

**TT: But he’s definitely scared of whomever or whatever it is you remind him of.**

**TT: One of his friends is calming him down now.**

**TT: If you go in there right now, you’ll probably just set him off again.**

It at least sounds like Dave’s regained control. He’s still breathing heavily, sniffling, and letting out quiet, choked sobs every now and then which break your damn heart, but he at least no longer sounds like he’s in agonizing pain.

You take a few seconds to listen, closing your eyes and ghosting the palm of your right hand and your forehead over the hard wood of the door separating you.

_He’s afraid of me._

You know fear. You’ve felt it. It’s choked you, made you furious, made you shake, made you feel small and weak and insignificant. It’s not an emotion you’d ever inflict on someone else, especially not someone important to you.

And yet somehow, you’ve fucked this up, too.

You couldn’t explain the terror Dave experienced earlier because the reason was _you._

You couldn’t figure out why he always felt lowkey scared ever since you first laid eyes on him because it was _your fault_ that he felt that way.

You take a few deep, measured breaths to calm yourself.

And then you slide into a squat, eyes opening to focus on easing the ball of socks toward you.

**TT: Whoa whoa whoa hey, what are you doing you inelegant meatsack?**

**TT: Didn’t we *just* establish that barging in on the emotionally vulnerable dude with Dirkphobia was a fucking bad idea?**

**TT: I’m not going in.**

**TT: I just need to make sure that he’s okay.**

**TT: Fine.**

**TT: Just don’t let him see you peek through his fuckin’ doorknob.**

**TT: That might actually kill the poor kid.**

You manage to pull the tightly wedged wad out and you waste no time in pushing forward to get a good look inside.

The lights are off and the curtains are drawn, leaving the only light source as the blue iridescent glow of Dave’s multiple monitors. You can see PesterChum on one, some sort of mixer software on the other, and the last one is turned off.

Dave is sunk low in his chair, ass not even on the seat and long legs bent at awkward angles to accommodate themselves in the small space beneath the desk. His arms are in a similar state of ‘fuck it’, dangling over the armrests of his computer chair while he gazes blankly at the monitor with the chat client on, chin resting against his chest like he doesn’t have the energy to even lift that much.

He looks… _exhausted,_ and emotionally worn like a candle burnt to the stub.

The knives in your heart twist and bury deeper.

Why did you have to _replace_ the guy that was somehow responsible for this? Why couldn’t he still be here? You’ve never seriously wanted to run another human through with a sword before, but there’s a first time for everything.

**TT: Dirk.**

You realize that you are shaking with anger.

You replace the socks.

You stand up. You take one step back. Then another.

You turn, walk back to the futon, sit down, and stare at the blank television.

You close your eyes and think.

It doesn’t take you too long to come to a conclusion.

You don’t know how long you’re going to be here, but you will damn well make good use of your time while you are. He’s your responsibility now. Hell, maybe that’s why you were sent here in the first place. Maybe the universe is letting _you_ save _him._

That doesn’t mean that you plan to cease all investigations into what got you and the others here in the first place, of course. You’re a damned good multi-tasker, after all.

That being said…

PesterChum blinks with a notification. You raise your hand and idle your shades. The screen goes black.

Your priorities have shifted a little.

You stand up, stretch a little, put your hands on your hips and survey the abysmal mess of detritus scattered on every available surface.

You have no idea where to start.

Red text pops up. You get ready to admonish him for further abusing his admin privileges, but pause when you actually read the message.

**TT: I’m pretty sure he fucking despises puppets.**

In any other situation, you would be full of a righteous indignation so hot it would scorch the very earth the blasphemer walked on for their hatred of such a pure medium of plush craftsmanship.

As it is though, you are willing to make any sacrifice to make Dave feel better. Even this one.

You close your eyes, saying a few parting words of mourning to the puppets.

Then you open your eyes and get to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what a fucking DOOZY of a chapter jesus christ. i really have no idea how to divide this up so i kind of did it like this bc cutting it off at any one of these sections felt fucking awkward so i just decided 'fuck it' and did the whole section. i didn't write this with chapters in mind so it's going to be a lil choppy and sometimes we're gonna have chaps like this that are fuckoff long sry.
> 
> SO MANY FUCKING PESTERLOGS spoiler alert the one between jade and dave is my fav one so far 
> 
> also if you can't tell i fucking love strilonde relationships idk what to tell you 
> 
> ALSO I AM NOT TAGGING ANY SHIPS YET BC I ONLY HAVE ONE SOLID ONE AND IT MIGHT NOT EVEN EVER SHOW UP AND THEY'RE NOT THE MAIN POINT OF THIS STORY and you can probably spot it but SHRUG


	4. Carefree Action

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm bad at these chapter titles. THERE ARE TOO MANY GOOD SONGS TO CHOOSE FROM and i'm trying to keep them strider-based. 
> 
> also we're averaging 8k words per chapter and it's killing me on the inside
> 
> also also thank you again for all the comments and kudos! i'd respond but i'm currently allergic to any and all social interaction but i'm still immensely grateful!!!

**Dave: Dream.**

Back in this fucking place again, it seems.

The darkness isn’t nearly so comforting this time. It’s cold and lonely and horrible. It presses in on all sides, suffocating, and you struggle against it.

The blue light is still there, no closer than it was last time. You drift, unable to move or even make a sound. Your anxiety chokes you, and you stare desperately at the one other thing in this whole plane of existence besides you.

The voices are back.

They don’t ebb and flow this time, they echo and fade like you’re at the bottom of a canyon and they’re miles away. You start to fight against your own body again, even though the voices don’t originate from any direction, but you _have_ to find them. You have to see who they are. You have to get them to _help_.

_Shh, it’s okay._

You relax, body reacting to the familiar voice and soothing warmth without your conscious permission.

Both the voice and the warmth are gone as quick as they came, leaving you calm and confused. That had been as clear as if someone had whispered in your ear, even if the gravelly voice seemed incapable of speaking so low. It did something to your heart, though you can’t recall anyone you know who has ever spoken like that. You feel at ease but there is a gnawing portion of you that yearns and aches and cries for that voice to come back.

You try to speak again, but as always, nothing comes out.

You give up on that. You close your eyes.

_Please_ , you plead in your mind. You don’t know how, but you know the voice will help you out. _Just tell me what to do here._

You wait. And wait. And wait.

There is no response, no matter how long you wait. Disappointment floods you like a cold weight. You try to convince yourself that it doesn’t matter, you weren’t even expecting anything.

You feel even more alone than you did before.

When you open your eyes again, the blue dot winks at you.

Then you notice the line.

It’s thin like glass and barely visible even against the dark backdrop of emptiness. It stretches from you to the dot in a straight shot.

Except there are other lines.

There are lines that shoot out of your own, stopping abruptly and going no further. There are loops that stretch out from the line, some overlapping. There are lines that shoot out and lead to a parallel line, also reaching towards you but none coming anywhere near as the main one.

Abruptly, you realize these aren’t just lines.

They’re time.

**Dirk: Commence cleaning montage.**

You would, if this were a piece of visual media, but it’s not so you just clean like a normal person.

As with most tasks you set yourself to, you stick to it with a single-minded focus that, from an outsider’s perspective, can appear nearly robotic. Pick up as many puppets as you can, lob them out the window you opened and into the darkening sky. Don’t ignore the weapons completely, but organize them into less hazardous piles to create walkways. More puppets, more unceremonious tossing, more puppets, a literal fucking shitton of puppets, like holy shit you thought _you_ loved puppets but this guy took it to a whole ‘nother level.

And some of them have cameras in them, for whatever creepy fucking reason that you never want to know about. Those ones get _special_ treatment – a sword through the eye of the lens and then through the plush body, slicing it in twain. And then they, too, are catapulted out of the building.

A mindless Strider funk such as this can only be penetrated by the call of nature, aka those cookies you ate earlier demanding angrily to vacate your asshole postfuckinhaste. You drop the puppets you were holding in your rush to reach the toilet. You somehow maintain your cool and collected demeanor while doing this, but only because two flash-steps bring you there and you’re way too chill to let rebellious bowels ruffle your unflappable Striderian feathers and god dammit there’s a puppet in the toilet.

**Dirk: Remove puppet from toilet.**

Time is of the essence right now but you still take a moment to stomp on its stupid, smug grin.

No wonder Dave hates these things.

**Dirk: Have explosive diarrhea.**

Your face is blank in the unrelenting onslaught currently pouring from your asshole.

You don’t take the time to think about the amount of liquid your body is currently secreting via a truly alarming amount of excrement. It’s not Strider Five time, after all. Instead you invest your time into something far more productive.

You tap your glasses awake, eyes skimming over the still-blinking PesterChum window before settling on the folder AR sent you earlier: ‘Don’t…’. You think about putting off reading it for a while longer, if only to spite the snarky AI, but think better of it. AR may be an asshole, but he (usually) has your best interests at heart (you think).

When you click on it, it opens to a full page of saved links, .pdf files, and .doc files. The title gets expanded to an even more ominous ‘Don’t fuck him up more than he already is’.

You skim over the titles with widening eyes and think:

_Oh._

**Dirk: Be Dirk six hours later.**

It is six hours later and you hate Dave’s Bro with every fiber of your cold, dead heart.

Every article you clicked through just made the desire to cleave him in two that much stronger. You’re not sure you’ve ever felt such impotent rage at someone before save for the Condesce herself. You are a man of action, after all. You make plans. You execute them. But you can’t do jack shit when the actual subject of your ire is in another dimension, for all you know, and it’s making you even angrier.

What you can do, however, is try and help Dave in other ways. Such as tossing a whole metric fuckton of puppets out a fuckin’ window.

First, though, you completed shitting. Then you showered for a delightfully long time and stole some of what you assume were Dave’s clothes, unearthed from the sea of garbage you spent hours picking through. Then you finished sifting through the information AR got for you, took a Strider Five to seethe, and went right back to cleaning.

Now, with the first hint of daytime soaking through the window, you have completed the massive puppet exodus into the great beyond, leaving the apartment a lot emptier than it was before.

You take a few seconds to admire your handiwork.

There are still a lot of shitty weapons, which you would have also carelessly tossed out the window had AR not stopped you. Apparently, he wasn’t sure whether Dave liked the weapons or not. It sounded kind of like bullshit, but you just shrugged and shoved them in a corner. You’ll ask Dave today and possibly toss ‘em later. Though you might keep some, specifically the katana that’s strikingly similar to the one you use.

You didn’t take the time to gather up the trash laying about the place – like old containers of food, empty cans, and eaten ramen cups. The puppets were the priority. It’ll be next on the agenda though, since it’s grossing you out and you’re sure Dave won’t have any attachment to the mold gathering on some of them. You think you should find some cleaning gloves first, though.

You sway on your feet then, realizing you haven’t drank anything since you woke up… how long ago was it now? It doesn’t matter. You should probably have a cup of water before you start in on another manic cleaning spree.

You head over to the now puppetless kitchen. There are no glasses on the counters that you can see, and you have no idea which cabinet might hold some. You waste a few seconds staring at the cabinets like you might suddenly gain x-ray vision and see which of them is hiding a drinking receptacle. You waste a few more seconds being ashamed of yourself for even having thought that.

You open a cabinet.

An absolute avalanche of kunai and puppet ass tips towards you.

You flash-step backwards in panic, slip on a can, and fall head over ass over the back of the futon with an embarrassing yelp, landing on the cushion on the other side does nothing to save your dignity.

You lay on the futon like that, with your head hanging over the side, your back in a C shape as it rests against the back of the futon, and your knees falling past your red ears while you glare balefully at the ceiling.

“Not a word, AR,” you say into the relative silence of pre-dawn.

**TT: I’m setting that scream as your PesterChum notification sound.**

“I despise you,” you tell him despondently.

**TT: I’m aware.**

After you take an impromptu Strider Five, you’re back to throwing puppets out the window again. The kunai get thrown on one of the ever-expanding piles of shitty weapons. The cabinet, it turns out, is filled with a few chipped bowls and dirty plates that look like they haven’t been washed in years. Higher up there are broken mugs that have been pushed all the way to the back and, miraculously, two glasses. One of them is chipped at the rim, so you take the other one which is spotted with disuse and wash it out in the sink. To your ever-increasing chagrin, there is no cleaning fluid or sponge, but you make do with rinsing it out a few times and satisfy yourself by checking for particles before you chug it down.

You almost choke on it when there’s a righteous knocking on the door.

Immediately your muscles tense and you flash-step to where you’d left your katana. It’s only when you try to grasp it in both hands that you realize you still have the cup. And _then_ you remember the old lady from earlier and Dave’s shock at your response to the knock.

How much can a single dude embarrass himself in one 24-hour period, you wonder? Clearly there are no fucking limits.

You calmly put the glass in the sink, but you keep the sword while you head into the hallway to the tune of an absolute pounding on the poor front door. Whoever it is, it doesn’t seem like a sweet old lady asking for her cookie tin back.

You hesitate then, glancing back at Dave’s closed bedroom door before you ultimately decide to stop being such a ninny and go answer the damn door yourself.

You lean the katana against the wall at an easily reachable distance and open the door with confidence.

Then you almost flinch back at the red face looming above you.

“Who the _fuck_ are you?” the red face, it seems, belongs to a bald man. One that is absolutely hulking. He’s got at least a foot on you, and is about thrice as thick. You’re pretty sure he could snap you in half, and not in the fun way. He’s wearing a white wife-beater, ample chest hair curling up out of the top, and his gray sweatpants look almost uncomfortably tight on him.

You realize he’s waiting for a response at the same time that his patience apparently wears out.

“Never mind, it doesn’t fuckin’ matter,” he spits. Like, actually spits. It’s disgusting. He stoops down lower to look you in the eye, face uncomfortably close. “You the little fucker that’s been throwin’ puppets into the alley?”

The intimidation tactic, considering the size difference, should be effective. Unfortunately for him, you are a stone-cold motherfucker and have faced down more robots actively seeking to kill you than he probably has greasy chest hairs.

You’re also not sure why he seems so angry about this.

“And if I am?” you ask, making extra sure that your voice is as unaffected as you can make it.

The effect is satisfying, if kinda gross. The man’s eyes bulge in his head and he, somehow, gets a few shades darker still.

“You patronizin’ me, boy?” he asks, voice rising in volume. You try not to grimace at even more spit, taking a moment to raise a deliberate sleeve to wipe it off. At least he leans back a little to go back to towering over you. “I _know_ it was you! There ain’t another puppet-fucker in this hellhole besides Dirk, even if he’d never do something as fucking stupid as throwing hundreds of puppets out a fuckin’ _twentieth-story window!_ ”

You still have no idea what the problem is.

But he seems to be waiting for you to speak again, glaring down his bulbous nose pointedly as his hands ball into fists at his sides.

You slowly cock a brow at him, completely nonplussed.

“…And?” you drawl.

The man’s face screws up in fury.

“ _AND?!_ ” he all but screams, throwing his arms up. Goddamn, your ears are ringing. But, of course, you’re not letting anything show on your face. You have it on good authority (one Jake Fucking English) that stoicism can really get to people. “Are you _shitting me?!_ ”

You wonder if you can make him go incoherent with rage before this conversation is over. It sounds like a fun challenge. Or it would be, if it wouldn’t be easy as fuck to accomplish.

“I’m afraid you’ve lost me,” you intone.

He looks like he’s about to have a conniption. It’s glorious.

“ _Don’t play dumb_!” he snarls, baring his teeth like an animal. “I already _know_ it was you and god dammit I will have you pick up every fucking puppet down there, you little shit, _do you understand_?”

“I’ve never seen a puppet in my life, sir.”

The man draws in a breath, throws his head back, and lets loose a battlecry of white-hot rage.

You knew getting rid of those puppets was the right thing to do.

While he rants, you pull up PesterChum.

**\--** **timaeusTestified [TT]** **began pestering** **timaeusTestified [TT]** **at 06:46 --**

**TT: Am I incorrect in assuming that this is why you didn’t let me toss the sharp objects?**

**TT: Wow, presumptuous much?**

**TT: So I’m right then.**

You’re 90% tuned out of this guy’s incredible one-man scream routine. It’s actually kind of impressive how many words he can get out in a single breath, all while shouting his lungs out.

You make sure to interject a few words where appropriate to keep the fire stoked.

**TT: I’m a very busy Auto-Responder, Dirk.**

**TT: I can’t be here to save you from *every* mistake you make.**

**TT: That being said, I thought it’d be funnier to let you figure out on your own that trash collection in the 21 st century is a little different than what you’re used to. **

**TT: AKA, you don’t just throw it out the fucking window.**

**TT: And, as per usual, I was correct. This is kind of hilarious.**

**TT: It kind of is.**

**TT: It would be nice if you would inform me in the future, though.**

**TT: I’ve got enough irons in the fire as is without worrying about culturally assimilating with 21 st century norms. **

**TT: We’ll see.**

**TT: Much obliged.**

**\--** **timaeusTestified [TT]** **has ceased pestering** **timaeusTestified [TT]** **at 06:49 --**

You tune back in, pointedly wiping another fleck of spittle off your face, as the guy continues to fucking lose it.

**Dave: Wake up. …Again.**

You are now shit rapper Strider again and you are currently being rudely awoken by nearby shouting.

Once you’re fully conscious, you perform the cursory sweep of your surroundings for any sign of Bro. Then you remember that Bro isn’t even around right now and the adrenaline leech as a result has you dropping your sword and collapsing back onto your bed with a groan.

Facedown, you blindly flail around for your shades until you strike gold. Your head is pounding a vicious beat in your skull and you feel like you got hit by a fucking dump truck. Your limbs feel sluggish and sore and you can’t recall why.

At least your dream wasn’t so bad today, even if it was confusing as fuck. You wonder if you’ll dream about it again and if you do, if you’ll get to meet the source of the voice that made you feel so inexplicably calm.

“Are you an _idiot?!_ ” the booming voice of your landlord snaps from what sounds like the room over.

Oh, right. The yelling.

That’s still a thing.

And apparently it is a thing that might be happening in your apartment right at this very second.

Your sluggish brain is still attempting to catch you up on the full events of yesterday, but there’s one thing you know for fucking sure, and it’s that Not-Bro Dirk can _not_ handle strangers. You’ll have to swoop in and save the day. Your landlord is fucking ruthless, after all. You’re pretty sure he and Bro are best friends and really, that says enough about his character that you wouldn’t trust him alone with _anyone_ for more than two minutes, max.

You’re still dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. At least post-psychotic-break exhaustion is good for _something._

You put your shades on and exit your room.

The hallway proves to be A Lot Fucking Louder. It grates on your head like nothing else, but you don’t have time to grab a painkiller for it right now.

You wonder what Dirk even did. Maybe he answered the door with a sword and tried to stab him. For some reason, that mental image makes you snicker. It doesn’t help that you see said sword leaning against the hallway wall a little way down.

“…in _so_ much trouble!” you tune into the yelling even if you’d rather do anything else. At the end of the hall, you see the freakishly tall landlord towering over a motionless Dirk. It looks like the bald guy’s pullin’ out all the stops, too – complete with rude pointer fingers in the face and spittle flying about like glitter. Except way grosser. “Do you even _realize_ what kind of a lawsuit we’d have on our hands if you’d have _hit someone with one of them?!_ ”

“Sir,” Dirk says tonelessly as you come up behind him. “They are foam puppet asses. The most they can do if they hit someone is publicly humiliate them and possibly give them pupaphobia.”

You manage to bite down on a laugh but a snort still escapes. What in the actual fuck have you walked in on?

Dirk turns his head to regard you calmly. As usual, your knee-jerk response is to tense up. It’s easier than it was yesterday to tamp down on it and smooth out your expression. You give him a little wave.

“Yo,” you say.

“’Sup,” he returns with a nod.

The landlord is purple in the face.

You step around Dirk to do some damage control, planting yourself a little bit in front of him as you look up blandly into the seething rage of your landlord’s egghead.

“What seems to be the problem, officer?”

Okay, so maybe by ‘damage control’ you meant ‘make it worse’, but it was worth it to hear Dirk’s poorly-suppressed snort and see the veins popping in landlord fuckface’s forehead.

“I will be in touch with your brother, you little shit,” he hisses, directly in your face. You try really fucking hard not to grimace at the spit that lands on your cheek. “And he will do far worse to you both than I could ever do, but you already know that, don’t you?”

_That_ almost makes you flinch.

Well. It’s nice to confirm his douchefuck status.

He must read something in your face, because his ugly mug twists in a cruel smirk. Your stupid heart is racing and you just woke up, dammit, so you have no ill comebacks handy just yet. You’ll have to just brace for the inevitable—

Dirk skirts around you, slow and smooth and never even vaguely brushing against you.

You wince backwards at the sudden proximity and the familiarity of that effortless stealth, but you don’t have time to reflect on it because Dirk is getting right up in the guy’s face, dead expression and all, and—

“We hear you loud and clear,” he says, voice almost monotone, but positively dripping with ice. “In fact, I think the whole apartment building did.” Oh my God. “We’re done here, right? _Sir?_ ”

The sarcasm dripping from that sir is so palpable and full of threat that even Douchefuck McShitstain’s mouth drops open in surprise.

He blusters over words for a good ten seconds. It is immensely satisfying.

Eventually, he settles on an extremely clichéd and boring, “ _this isn’t over_ ” after which Dirk pointedly wipes off his cheek with the long sleeve of his—is that your shirt? Whatever, never mind, the important thing is that landlord fartfucker has stormed off and Dirk has closed the door on that ridiculous exchange.

A brief silence.

You stare at each other.

More silence.

A door slams somewhere, loudly.

You giggle.

He snorts.

You both dissolve into a hysterical fit of laughter and holy shit. You feel so light right now. You’re so glad you got out of bed for this disasterpiece.

Once you both manage to gather yourself after an embarrassingly long, kind of absurd amount of time, you just have to fucking know.

“Dude,” you say, curious and awestruck in equal parts while you straighten, “what did you even _do?_ ”

He looks at you, disconcertingly blank for a number of seconds, long enough to make you start to unconsciously tense. Then suddenly he turns his face away, bringing a hand up to rub at the back of his neck.

“There may have been a misunderstanding,” he says evenly, like it isn’t his current life’s mission to avoid your gaze, “involving the fact that where I’m from, you just sort of toss your trash out the window.”

Oh.

Oh my God.

Is he saying what you think he’s saying.

You get a mental image of the alley outside, littered with sad, soaked puppets while people passing by look on in horror and mild intrigue.

You burst out laughing again.

This time he doesn’t join you, he just turns and stares at you, looking mildly indignant.

“Oh my God,” you wheeze, doubling over and clutching at your aching stomach, “ _dude._ Did you throw _smuppets_ out of our fuckin’ window?”

“Maybe,” he sniffs imperiously. Then his lips quirk up at the side. “They can’t prove anything.”

“Holy _shit_ ,” you actually start choking a little. You’d be more embarrassed if this weren’t so hilarious _._ “That is the best shit I have ever heard in my life,” you tell him seriously, when you’re finally able to breathe properly and stand upright like a functioning human being. You’re both leaning on opposite sides of the hallway walls now, his arms crossed and yours dangling restlessly by your sides. “Should’ve woken me up, dude. I would have _loved_ to have launched some puppet ass into the fucking void.”

“Sorry,” he says, “I wasn’t about to wake you up to help me clean, though.”

“You were _cleaning?_ ” you demand, shocked.

“Yeah, haven’t you noticed? Your place is a mess.”

“Well, yeah, but…” Bro didn’t clean so you never really learned how. The mess has never bothered you, it’s just always been like that. It _would_ be nice not to trip over puppet ass or slice another toe open on a stray shuriken every other day though. “So why the Smuppets get the walk the plank treatment? Do you hate puppets or something?”

You’d thrown out the question in the hopes of relieving some of the awkward tension that had eased in after your non-answer. What happened instead was Dirk giving you an incredibly intense, inscrutable look that makes your whole body go cold and rigid. The micro-frown is back, pinching his eyebrows ever-so-slightly, and it’s a long, drawn-out moment of feeling that familiar anxiety claw up your throat before he says:

“Yeah. Puppets fuckin’ suck.”

You let out a small breath you didn’t even know you were holding and offer him a fist to bump because you don’t know how else to communicate extreme platonic bonding from a mutual hatred of jutting foam ass.

He bumps it extremely tentatively, like he’s never done it before, and you offer him a grin that you hope isn’t as shaky as it feels.

“Yeah, man,” you say. “Fuck puppets.”

He gives you a small smile in return. Holy shit. You guys are having a _moment._ That shitty song from that shittier movie with sweaty Nic Cage and the bunny that John insists on singing every time Jade forces you all into a karaoke night is blaring in your brain, nasal Egbertian vocals and all. Not even that can ruin this for you, though. Waking up to a puppetless apartment without Bro is practically catapulting you into nirvana right now, nerdy singing and all. Today is already shaping up to be way better than yesterday, not that it could really get worse.

“So,” Dirk interrupts your inner monologue, “wanna teach me what the fuck a trash bag is?”

“Oh my _God_ , dude,” you admonish, but your having trouble controlling your grin. “Can’t believe you ruined that epic bonding moment. I had a corny soundtrack playing in my head and everything. I was on my way to ascending into the astral realm from all my newly found smuppetless bliss, and you just dragged me right back down again. Back to this fresh hell where I’m forced to contemplate having to educate you on cleaning when I know negative nothing about that shit.”

“Sorry,” he says, dry as dust, but the little quirk to his lips gives him away. It makes your own grin wider in response, and you suddenly have the ridiculous urge to punch him in the shoulder like you’ve been pals for years.

And then you get blindsided by a thought.

You have no idea how long he’s going to be here. He could disappear as suddenly as he appeared, and then your Bro will be back and that thought makes your throat close up.

You miss him, of course you do, and you want to know that he’s okay, it’s just…

It’s just so much easier when he’s not here.

And that thought makes you feel guilty as sin.

Dirk notices your shift in mood and raises a brow in question. You offer him what is undoubtedly your weakest attempt at a smile yet.

“I’m good, dude,” you tell him which is, as always, a fucking lie, but it’s sort of habit by now to embellish your general wellbeing. “Have breakfast yet? I’m starved.” 

Your head and stomach are pounding something vicious now, and if you don’t do something about one of them soon, you’re pretty sure your body is just going to rebel at its poor ownership and implode or something. It might be preferable to the constant pain of both, but you’d rather not subject Dirk to the black hole your ass would form. You think you have a few more Poptarts stashed away that you can spare for the cause of newfound broship.

“I could eat,” he says, but he’s still watching you and yep, it’s back. The baby frown. You will figure out what that means if it’s the last thing you do, you swear to God. You may be atheist but, well, any god will work you guess.

After all, you _are_ kind of a god, aren’t you?

Your vision whites out and Dirk is gone. There’s a feeling like nails scraping across your brain as you get flashes of green and white and the impression of heat and fear and… love? For a moment, everything is too bright and too painful and too _much,_ but the absolute nothing that follows is far, far worse _._

You ground yourself in the present. Dirk is calling your name. He’s not touching you, but his vague shape swims in front of your half-open, watery eyes and oh fuck, you’re crying a little bit. Painful or not, Bro used to kick your ass extra hard in strifes if he saw you crying over an injury. You wish you had the energy to wipe them away.

You’re on the floor now, slumped against the wall with your head tipped back. You have no memory of how you got here, but you’re gonna assume your legs gave out when your brain decided to explode. 

“Dave?” Dirk asks, fifty shades of obviously fucking concerned and God you are glad he’s not Bro.

“Ow,” you say.

The hallway light hurts even with your shades on and you squeeze your eyes shut, ignoring the liquid it forces down your cheeks. It’s not tears, it’s _liquid._

“Migraine?” he inquires.

You have no idea if it is, but you nod anyway in a spectacular display of stupidity. You bite your tongue on another hiss of pain that just that small movement caused to your cranium.

“Don’t move,” Dirk speaks softly, like he knows exactly what all your senses are doing to fuck you over in different ways right now. “I’ll get the painkillers. Stay put.”

You don’t understand why he’s being so nice to you, but you do understand that you should be grateful. So you grumble something resembling a ‘thank you’ even if you’re not even sure he’s still there. The light flips off a second later and you almost groan in relief.

This whole situation is kind of mortifying for you, but so is your whole existence, apparently, so you’re trying to get used to it.

What’s more concerning is what the fuck whatever that was. You’ve never gotten a migraine in your life, but you highly doubt that it involves what felt like some sort of sensory flashback. It feels like your soul just got torn out and replaced, leaving your whole body tingling unpleasantly even though, for some reason, your right hand remains warm.

And here you had thought the day had started off well. You forget sometimes that your life is a one-way shoot through the poo tube.

You hear Dirk’s footsteps approaching, almost like he’s making them deliberately loud. You don’t get a chance to ponder on that though, because he interrupts your thoughts with the promise of salvation.

“Open your palm,” he requests in that same soft tone. You comply, raising your arm slightly. He presses two pills into your hand and your stupidly trusting ass doesn’t even think about it before you guzzle them. “Wait!” he chides, in what is the equivalent of a whisper-shout. “Here. Drink.”

He presses something cold and cylindrical into the hand you’d dropped back on your knee. You turn your hand over and grasp it. You make short work of the pills and the entire cup of water after that. You chug like a fucking pro. If only you could go to college, you would be the undisputed keg-stand _king_.

You sigh when you finish, feeling a lot better already. Dirk wordlessly pulls the cup from your fingers after you let your arm fall limply back on the floor.

“Do you want me to get you a cold compress? Or a hot one? Those can help a lot.”

You squint in his general direction, but your vision is still watery. You’re pretty sure he’s kneeling in front of you. Once you confirm his location, you let your eyes slip closed again.

With your throat nicely lubricated now and the pain already ebbing a bit, you’re not as worried about the simple act of speaking being a literal pain.

“You sound like an expert,” you say, or croak, more like. Damn your voice is a lot hoarser than you were expecting. At least it doesn’t hurt that much, just a vague scrape in the back of your throat. It’s not like you’re a stranger to pain, anyway.

“Maybe it runs in the family,” he deadpans.

“Our one weakness,” your delivery is kind of fucked up by the rawness of your throat, but it earns you a nose-huff from Dirk nevertheless.

“ _One_ ,” he repeats, clearly amused. “Also, is it normal for you to have to sift through about five pointy objects and a plethora of hidden puppets before you’re able to find a usable cup?”

“Yeah,” you say, not thinking too hard about the fact that you hadn’t even known there were any useable glasses _left._ You stopped bothering to look after a while. It was more trouble than it was worth. You usually just cupped your hands under the faucet if you were thirsty and without AJ. “I’m surprised you even found one, to be honest.”

He’s silent for a stretch and you have to open your eyes to see where he is. He’s still kneeling across from you, holding the empty glass to his chest. Now that you can see properly, you identify the baby frown in a microsecond.

Then he opens his mouth and your stomach makes the most horrendous plea for food that you’ve ever heard.

You feel your face heat as you watch his mouth snap shut.

“I, uh,” you have no idea what to say to salvage this situation. You also don’t like how it looks like he’s trying very hard not to laugh. “Oh, fuck off. You hoarded the cookies yesterday and I didn’t eat dinner.”

The amusement is replaced by concern and oh god that’s so much worse.

“I’ll make you something,” he decides with a small nod. “What do you want?”

Your cheeks are still warm with embarrassment and you hate that you can’t get it to stop. You’re hoping he doesn’t notice, what with the low light and his shades, but you’re not too optimistic considering your natural complexion is ‘fuck-off white’.

You refuse to acknowledge the fact that him offering to cook you something made you feel gross amounts of warm and fuzzy.

Then that feeling stops anyway because you remember that food doesn’t really exist in your house.

“Dude,” you say, “there’s nothing in this house _to_ cook. Have you even looked in the fridge?” He’s frowning again, making to stand up before you realize what a bad idea that is. “Wait! I should just show you. It’s not advisable for anyone not used to Bro’s brand of humor to open anything in this house, no matter how innocent it looks.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he says, tone dry. “You sure you don’t want a compress? Those help a lot. Caffeine does, too, but I’m not sure you have that either.”

“Bro doesn’t drink coffee, but I have soda in my mini-fridge,” you say. There are also icepacks in the freezer, practically the only useful thing in the fridge, but the painkillers are already working their magic. “I’m fine, though. The medicine kicked in. It no longer feels like someone is sticking needles into my every orifice.”

His face screws up at that mental image. It’s pretty funny.

Then your stomach wails again and it’s your turn to grimace.

“We really need to get you something to eat,” he hums thoughtfully. “Are you sure there’s nothing—” He cuts off abruptly, mouth still open and a slow frown forming. You watch him quizzically, tamping down frustratedly on the panic that always came when you couldn’t read Bro’s behavior because for fuck’s sake _Dirk isn’t Bro_. Allegedly. Your traitorous body still jerks a little when Dirk’s eyebrows shoot up and he says, appalled, “you can _do_ that?”

“What is it?” you ask, confused and kind of worried.

“AR just reminded me that you can order food to your doorstep in this time period,” he says, back to his usual monotone.

There are about eight bonkers statements in that short sentence alone and you’re not sure which one to address first.

You start at the top of the list. “AR?”

His lips twist in a small scowl. “The AI modeled after my own brain.”

You decide to curb all your other questions because _this shit_ deserves further exploration what the _fuck._

“And it just… talks to you?” you probe.

“He messages me, yeah,” he says, tapping the side of his glasses and _oh yeah_ , you forgot those doubled as a computer. Mostly because it still sounds like bullshit.

“Could I talk to him?” you ask, trying not to sound too eager.

Dirk’s face shuts down so viciously that you have to resist a flinch.

“No,” he says, cold and hard and sounding so much like Bro that your face goes blank and you go still on instinct. Then he grimaces. “I said _no_.”

“I heard you,” you say.

“The second one wasn’t directed at you,” he states breezily, as if that makes any sense until it _does._

“He wants to talk to me?” you ask, definitely failing to maintain your composure this time because that’s cool as fuck.

The grimace gets heavier. “Yes, which makes my apprehension even worse.” You have no idea what to say to that, but he doesn’t give you a chance to anyway. “What toppings do you want on the pizza?”

You gape at him.

He stops reading whatever AR is sending to stare back.

“Not a pizza guy?” he drawls after a pause.

That jerks you back to awareness from sheer _appall._

“ _No one_ is not a pizza guy, dude,” you say, absolutely full of righteous indignation. You think this is how people must feel when someone insults their religion.

“So then what’s the issue?”

“There _is_ no issue,” you insist. “It is, in fact, the opposite of an issue. It is an unissue. I was just surprised because Bro _never_ lets me choose.”

You stiffen, excitement bleeding out of you.

You… did not mean to say that.

Dirk looks… mostly impassive, as always, but you’re good at picking out even the slightest change of expression in Bro’s face so you can easily see the tightness around his mouth. You just wish you knew what it actually meant _._

“Good thing I’m not him,” he says, almost deadpan but with a sharp undertone that you don’t miss. “So?”

You store away these moments for analysis later. Pizza takes precedence, after all.

“Hawaiian” you blurt like an over-eager idiot. But whatever, this is a momentous occasion for you and no amount of social fumbling will take that away. You’ve been wanting to try pineapple on pizza ever since you saw a hate group for it on Facebook. You never thought you’d get the chance.

“Hawaiian it is,” Dirk says, the barest of smirks on his face. “Do you want breadsticks?”

Oh my God. This is the best day of your life.

“What kind of question is that?” you ask, smile splitting your face. Both his eyebrows shoot up and it only makes you grin wider. “You bet your fuckin’ _ass_ I want breadsticks.”

**Be Dirk.**

You are now Dirk. No fanfare or anything. Why would there be? You’ve always been Dirk. But what is being Dirk, really? Is it a feeling? A sense of self? An exact brain composition attached to a specific physical form?

The author is cutting off your philosophical bullshit because she despises it and you can suck it up. Someone just knocked on your door, anyway. You have to go answer.

Dave went to shower after the pizza was ordered, and it seems the propensity for longwinded ablutions is yet another shared family trait. You’d been occupying yourself with clearing other cabinets of puppets and weaponry and had just unearthed utensils from a drawer when the knock sounded.

If nothing else, at least you’re comfortable with random knocks now.

You still make sure that your katana is right where you left it.

You pull the door open to a teenage girl wearing a black cap with the logo from the place AR ordered on it and a bored look on her face. She’s holding a large square box against one hip with a smaller cardboard box balanced on top of it.

You realize that you’re actually going to get to eat pizza that isn’t freeze-dried for the first time and you get embarrassingly excited.

Of course, you’re Dirk Strider so it doesn’t show on your face.

“Delivery for Strider?” she drones, barely even bothering to phrase it like a question. You’re suddenly aware that you have no idea what the etiquette is here, but whatever. You’re an adaptive learner.

“Yeah,” you say, pretty sure that’s what she’s looking for.

She holds out a pen and a thin slip of paper with the hand not balancing the two boxes.

“Sign please.”

You take the pen and paper, scanning it. It appears to be a summary of your order, with a line at the bottom that says ‘Signature’ underneath. You guess this is a way of confirming the delivery, and it’s straightforward as fuck, so you just write your name on the line and hand both pen and paper back to the girl.

She takes it and shoves the boxes at you. You easily accept and take a step back into the apartment, surprised at the simplicity of the exchange, when you realize she’s giving you a hard look, annoyed. You stop and stare at her expectantly. She’s the one leading you here, after all. You can’t do shit without a cue.

“Well?” she asks, impatient. “You gonna give me the tip?”

You frown.

You have heard that phrase in one context and one context only. Well, whatever. It’s contextually weird but you have nothing else to go on.

“I’m gay,” you say.

Dave makes a choking noise behind you. You hadn’t even heard him approaching, but you’re used to his theatrics by now so you don’t turn around.

Meanwhile, the girl sneers at you and you raise your eyebrows at her. Clearly there is a different meaning here that you’re missing.

“I do not get paid enough for this shit,” she says irritably. “I have other deliveries to make, dude. You gonna give me a tip or what?”

You can hear Dave kicking up a fuss behind you somewhere in the vicinity of his room, but you ignore that, too. You have no actual fucking idea what this girl wants from you, so you say the first thing that pops in your head.

“Here’s a tip,” you say, as Dave thunders down the hall behind you. “Don’t proposition gay m—”

“OKAY, here ya go!” Dave speaks over you, jostling you aside and pressing something into the girl’s open palm.

Oh. Money.

…But didn’t you already pay her?

Whatever, you’ll figure it out later. You never imagined that living in a time with other human beings would be such a pain in the fucking ass.

“Sorry about my brother, he’s a real prankster,” Dave rambles awkwardly.

The girl gives the both of you dead-eyed stares, one after the other, then turns and walks away without another word.

You turn too, leaving Dave to shut the door while you head back to the living room. Predictably, Dave explodes with sound before the door is even closed.

“Okay, you are expressly forbidden from this point on from opening the door without adult supervision,” he’s clearly leaning more towards amused than angry, but you can’t tell if he’s serious or not. “Also, were you just being funny or have you actually never ordered a pizza before?”

“I haven’t,” you say, setting the boxes down on the table in the kitchen that you cleared earlier. You set the smaller box off to the side and turn your attention to the bigger one. “I’ve never really had pizza before either, unless you count the microwaveable kind.”

Dave produces an incredibly offended squawk that makes you look up from where you’d been trying to find out how to open the box. His face is just as affronted and you can’t help a snort. He gets worked up about the weirdest shit.

“That is a dire issue and we are going to rectify it immediately,” he tells you, reaching over and easily popping the lid. He makes a point of sitting down and removing a pre-cut slice from the circle, holding it in limbo as he turns his head up towards you and lifts his eyebrows as if to say ‘ _well?_ ’

You want to get plates and utensils, but Dave is clearly dead-set on you devouring one of these slices post-fuckin’-haste and you _are_ curious. And extremely hungry. So you sit down across from him and twirl the box so that the lid is facing another direction. You look at the pizza.

You stare at the pizza.

You narrow your eyes at the pizza.

“Dude.” Dave says, exasperated.

“Is that… pineapple?” you ask. You’ve had the stuff from cans before but it’s not the type of shit you’d be caught dead throwing on a pizza. Something just seemed… wrong about it.

“Yeah,” Dave says, “it may _seem_ dodgy as fuck to put fruit on a pizza, but mama always said don’t knock it ‘til you try it.”

“I thought you didn’t know your mom,” you say, carefully plucking a smaller slice out of the box. You try to ignore how much it bothers you that the pizza is sliced so unevenly.

“I don’t,” Dave dismisses. “Man, this is gonna be dope. Should we like… cheers or something to commemorate this beautiful broment?”

You pause in your attempt to get the pizza to your mouth without letting any of the toppings slide off of it. It’s a lot harder than it sounds.

You look at Dave.

His face is back to being impenetrably blank, but you can tell he’s two seconds away from exploding with excitement.

“Cheers?” you ask, confused. You make extra sure to let the confusion bleed into your voice, otherwise Dave could just give you a non-answer that makes no sense as per usual.

“Yeah, dude,” he enthuses. “Like, toasting our pizza. Knockin’ ‘em together so we can seal the deal on this epic Hawaiian style devirginizing that’s about to take place.”

You scrutinize him in the sudden silence, trying to figure out if he’s serious or not.

Dave’s face falls the longer you’re quiet, his excitement dimming into self-consciousness, and that’s a pretty good indication.

“Sounds awesome,” you deadpan and Dave lights up like a circuit-board with a huge dumb grin. It’s stupid amounts of endearing. You’re sure this must be what owning a puppy would be like.

“Hell yeah,” he says, trying and failing to keep his voice as unaffected as yours. You give him points for the effort, but he gets more points for the cuteness of it.

You hold out your pizza to him with an air of gravitas that quickly sobers him. He extends his own slice, meeting yours with a tiny, greasy _bunp._ The moment has now been christened by pizza deities this world round, and it is safe for you to feast upon their boons like a ravenous wildebeest. It is, indeed, a moment worth penning into history books for eons to come, forever etched into the annals of history as the epoch of Striderian broship everywhere.

Dave gives you a grave nod. You bring the pizza to your lips.

You take a bite and—

…

Hm.

“How is it?” Dave asks nervously as you chew thoughtfully through your first bite. “Good? Bad? Poisoned?”

“Weird,” you respond, because that’s the only way you can describe the taste you’re experiencing. For a guy who is as verbose as you, you’re kind of ashamed. You’re beginning to believe this pizza actually just blew your fuckin’ mind.

“Okay, but good weird or bad weird? There is a huge difference.”

You swallow the bite and contemplate the pizza supported by your thumb and pointer. It’s definitely the best thing you’ve ever tasted, but it’s still… odd. Like enjoying something that you know, in theory, should taste like absolute shit, but instead it is the opposite of that. It is so opposite of absolute shit that it is negative shit. You are eating negative shit and it is _life-altering._

“Definitely good weird,” you say, and take another bite. When you look at Dave, he looks incredibly pleased.

“Hell yeah,” he says again, relieved.

Then he raises his own slice and shoves half of it down his gob in one go.

It’s kind of disgusting, but also incredibly impressive given that he doesn’t immediately choke on it.

Figuring the verbal exchange to be over, you do what you always do when eating: you multitask. You pull your shades out of idle mode with a single thought and immediately navigate to PesterChum.

You’ve left Jane hanging long enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and now i've left the reader hanging! HA HA! so anyway i'm thinking of a weekly upload schedule on fridays until i catch up with what i've written but we'll see. also writing dirk is both a joy and a pain in my fucking ass.
> 
> sorry if you enjoy pesterlogs as much as i do, but cmon. dave and dirk are cute af together and i love writing them getting up to various shenanigans. which is basically what this fic is lmao
> 
> ALSO while i was writing this i realized... dirk would have no fucking idea how living with other human beings would work? like not just in terms of their existence but in terms of how things are done and then i was like FUCK YES i am going to milk the SHIT out of this so prepare for more future innocently ignorant dirk bc it is literally the best thing to me. 
> 
> next chapter is going to be an overabundance of pesterlogs and ALSO this marks the halfwayish point of what i've written so far! the current doc is sitting pretty at 69kish (my first thought was lolsexnumber but also KARKAT) but some of that is future scenes that i haven't reached and also random notes so SHRUG


	5. Homefree

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the delay with this chapter and happy holidays/new year!
> 
> and THANK YOU for all your nice comments!!! they make posting this hot mess actually worth it <3

**Dirk: Answer Jane.**

**\-- gutsyGumshoe [GG] began pestering timaeusTestified [TT] at 20:33 --**

**GG: Hoo boy, what a doozy of a day!**

**\-- timaeusTestified [TT] is now an idle chum! -- **

**GG: Aw, shucks buster. I suppose my venting can wait.**

**TT: Hello, Jane.**

**GG: Oh!**

**GG: Hello, AR.**

**TT: Dirk is currently preoccupied with some important business.**

**GG: Oh?**

**TT: The man is absolutely up to his shades in puppet ass right now.**

**GG: Oh my!**

**TT: He will be unavailable for quite some time.**

**GG: Phooey.**

**TT: Might I suggest telling me about your predicament so that Dirk may peruse the data later at his own leisure?**

**GG: Oh, well…**

**GG: I would prefer to hear Dirk’s own opinions on the matter, if you don’t mind.**

**TT: Jane, I pretty much *am* Dirk.**

**GG: I know, I know!**

**TT: Besides, he’ll read through all this later and get back to you with what he thinks.**

**GG: Hm…**

**GG: Oh, fine.**

**GG: But I will spare some of the more, erm… extraneous details.**

**TT: Go on.**

“Dirk?”

You refocus on your surroundings to find Dave looking at you. He has another slice of pizza in his hand and has sauce and grease all around his mouth. There’s also more than one stain on his white t-shirt. You stare at a particularly large spot of grease and start debating whether or not you should make him a bib.

“…Dirk?” he repeats, a weird tenor in his voice that immediately has your eyes darting back up to his face. Well, shit. You’ve done something again. He’s anxious as fuck beneath that mask of impassivity.

“What can I do you for?”

“Nothing,” he responds, the odd note in his voice gone, though the anxiety isn’t. “Was just worried about the pizza fugue state you’d entered. I know it’s like, boner-inducingly good, but there’s only so long a dude can take watching his brother masticate on a single bite of pizza while staring into the great unknown before he’s gotta step in and drag said brother down from that Hawaiian-style-induced high.”

You chuckle. Dave sure knows how to spin some weird fucking mental images out of things that are generally normal.

“I was reading something,” you explain, untensing a little when Dave’s anxiety eases at that explanation. You hadn’t even known you’d tensed to begin with. “Though a pizza fugue state is an interesting concept that merits further exploration.” You look down at the half-empty box. “Next time, we’re ordering two.”

Dave grins. “Hell fucking yes. I’ve always wondered what it would be like not to shit for an entire week due to overconsumption of cheese products.”

“I’m glad I’ve opened up this opportunity for you,” you return solemnly. “Do you need anything else before I re-enter my pineapple-and-ham-fueled catharsis?”

He shakes his head and slumps in the rickety wooden chair. “Nah, dude. Just didn’t know what you were doing. I forgot you had high-tech robo-glasses that you don’t even need to move to use.”

“Ah. Well. Thanks for the concern.”

“Anytime, broski.”

You watch Dave stuff an ungodly amount of pizza down his gullet in morbid fascination for a moment, and then go back to reading.

**GG: Well, there are only a few things that Dirk didn’t already guess.**

**GG: One of which is completely irrelevant and therefore I will not bother him with!**

**GG: One of which is possibly relevant and incredibly confusing…**

**GG: And one of which is maybe only tangentially relevant but still worth mentioning.**

**TT: Start with the most important one, by your account.**

**GG: Yes, right…**

**GG: Well…**

**GG: My dad’s here.**

You blink.

Well, that’s a fucking monkey wrench. You called this shit.

Maybe it’s not though. Maybe her father just traveled back in time with her, or joined her in whatever happened that brought them here to begin with.

Damn Dave’s sloppy as fuck eating noises are making it hard for you to concentrate on this bit of information and take it as seriously as you should be.

**GG: Well, not *my* dad, per se…**

**GG: Well, okay. He’s definitely my dad! It’s just…**

**TT: C’mon, Jane. Spit it out.**

You roll your eyes at AR’s flippancy.

**GG: He’s also… John’s dad. My grandfather’s, that is.**

**GG: He doesn’t recognize me as his daughter, I mean. He thinks I’m somehow his mother resurrected in teenage form.**

Well, shit.

There goes the time traveling theories.

Unless…

**TT: Are you sure he’s your father?**

**GG: OF COURSE I’M DAMN SURE!!!**

**GG: …**

**GG: Apologies, AR.**

**GG: I think I might be more out of sorts than I thought…**

Okay, well fuck it. Time traveling is out. It was already seeming more and more unlikely the more you found out, but it had still been your top theory until now. You don’t dwell on it, because you’ve never seen the point of crying over spilt orange soda. Instead you start rifling through other possibilities.

Aging down, as Dave suggested, doesn’t fit fully with all of the evidence presented, much like time travel. Multiverse is possible, but you’ve never gotten too deep into research on the existence of alternate dimensions or separate realities. You’ll have to read up on it, but from your rather fragmented knowledge, you can piece together a picture that fits pretty damn well with the one you’re currently presented with. If you were all transported simultaneously to an alternate reality for reasons yet unknown, it would make sense for the universe to put you in the place of someone who is most similar to your own looks and disposition. In fact, given how alternate dimensions work as an entirely separate reality and not just splintered timelines of your own, it’s entirely possible that the people you all replaced _were_ you. Alternate versions of you, that is. In a reality where you grew up as the ancestors to _your_ ancestors.

It’s the only thing that makes—

Your eyes fall on Dave again as a thought occurs to you. You watch him inhale an entire breadstick like a starving man as he uses his free hand to poke at the phone in his lap. Something cold and hard settles in your stomach and spreads ice through your veins.

If you’re right about this, then that means you’re the culprit.

_You_ fucked up Dave.

It would explain a lot – the puppets, the Japanese weapons, the mixing boards – they were all your hobbies.

You remember, vividly, Dave’s terror when you grabbed him yesterday.

You suddenly don’t feel hungry anymore, slowly lowering the pizza back into the box and trying not to gain Dave’s attention. Luckily, he seems absorbed in whatever he’s doing on his phone.

You don’t know why you’re this surprised. You shouldn’t be, really. You’ve always known that you’re not a good person, that you’ve always had a sliver of evil gestating inside you, feeding off every negative aspect of your personality and growing larger by the year. You’ve always known that the possibility of it completely dominating your better side, the side that wants to _try_ to be good, is the most likely outcome to your constant struggle with morality. It’s neither inevitable nor a certainty, but you know yourself, and you know you’re not as good as everyone wants to believe you are.

You just never thought you’d be capable of something like _this._

It was foolish of you to ever presume yourself above whatever happened here. You’ve always been an instrument of hurting, not of helping, and you’ve proven that time and time again with your thoughtless words and actions to everyone unfortunate enough to know you. For some reason, you clung to a childish belief that maybe, one day, you could rise above your malicious tendencies, that you could triumph over the evil eating away at you from the inside, and you hate yourself more for ever believing that could happen. You hate yourself for making such stupid wishes, and yet you still—

…

You still wish you could be good.

You still _want_ to be good.

But this revelation, more than any other, just confirms your suspicions that you’re just inherently… bad. The end of the road for you is, and always has been for every iteration of you to ever exist, a twisting descent into sociopathy, narcissism, and megalomania.

You look at the hands you’ve balled in your lap, out of view from Dave, and marvel at the way they shake.

You think maybe it would be a good idea for you to talk to Roxy right now.

**Dirk: Pester Roxy.**

**\-- timaeusTestified [TT] began pestering tipsyGnostalgic [TG] at 08:28 --**

**TT: Alternate reality where different iterations of us existed who were the respective familial relations to those of whom we consider our own ancestors.**

**TG: lmao wellll good mornin 2 u too dirk ;))**

**TG: u kno how science talk gets me hot n heavy**

**TG: its too early 2 b this horny dirk**

**TT: What do you think about that theory?**

**TG: its p blievable**

**TG: i mean makes sense 2 me neway**

**TG: includes all the facts u couldnt xplain w time travel alone**

**TG: just gotta figure out the how and y**

**TT: Has your “daughter” talked to you at all about what she felt towards the mother you replaced in this universe?**

**TG: yeh a lil**

**TG: n now that uve given me this fire theory……**

**TG: it makes a lot more sense ;(**

**TT: How so?**

**TG: well 4 one**

**TG: her mom was a ragin alcoholic**

**TT: Oh.**

**TG: yeh**

**TG: they had a p contentious relationship 2 my knowledge**

**TG: but rose knows she luvs her**

**TG: i think she misses her a whole lot ;(**

**TG: she tries not 2 let it show but its p obvs**

**TG: n what bout u??**

**TT: What about me?**

**TG: hows ur bro**

**TG: has it gotten better between u 2?**

**TT: Yes and no.**

**TG: ;??**

**TT: Yes, as in he’s stopped flinching every time I twitch a muscle around him.**

**TT: No, as in I’m the reason he flinches to begin with.**

**TG: ohhhhhhhh**

**TG: ohhh nooooooooo ;((((**

**TG: dirk nooooooooooooo…. ;((((((**

**TT: He was abused, Roxy.**

**TT: I always knew I’d make a shit parent, but I never thought I’d ever go this far.**

**TT: It seems, as usual, that I’ve underestimated how truly fucking deplorable I can be when I allow myself to go unchecked.**

**TG: dirk stop it**

**TG: that wasnt u!!!!!**

**TG: well it was**

**TG: but it wasnt**

**TG: u arent him dirk and he aint u**

**TG: u cant blame urself for the shit hes done**

**TT: Sure I can. Pretty fucking easily, actually.**

**TG: dirk……**

**TT: Roxy, every iteration of me is still me.**

**TT: Just like every iteration of you is still you.**

**TT: You can’t tell me that you didn’t feel at least a little responsible when I told you that *you* were essentially the alcoholic parent you replaced.**

**TG: well yeh i did**

**TG: 4 like 2 secs**

**TG: then i realized how dum i was bein n stopped**

**TG: we lived entirely diff lives dirk**

**TG: idk y u always feel like u need 2 b the bad guy**

**TG: its like ur always lookin for reasons 2 hate urself more**

**TG: 2 push urself farther away from every1**

**TG: n feed into ur cycle of good v evil bs**

**TG: y cant u just let urself b dirk**

**TG: the dude that likes animes way too fuckin much n kicks ass w a sword n is kinda unhealthily in2 puppets n robutts**

**TT: I wish I could be so two-dimensional, Roxy, but you know that’s never been and never will be true.**

**TT: Or maybe you don’t. I’m not sure if you haven’t realized it yet or have just otherwise refused to acknowledge it, but I am not a good person and I never have been.**

**TT: I’ve always been more of an infection in our group than an actual friend, expanding and growing stronger by the year, infecting you all with my pessimism and self-aggrandizing bullshit, only made worse by AR.**

**TT: I’m not even sure how you all put up with me for so long.**

**TG: dirk**

**TT: I don’t know what my biggest failure is – whatever the fuck happened in this alternate dimension, or how I failed to even see it as a possibility before now.**

**TT: I’ve always talked about my superior knowledge and elevated self-awareness, and yet it turns out that I am, in actuality, full of shit.**

**TT: I failed to acknowledge the quintessential part of my personality that I’ve always taken a grim fascination in watching ferment over the years.**

**TT: A part that I strive to hide from my peers, a part that I deluded myself into believing I would always be stronger than if it came down to it, and yet a part that I believed would completely destroy me one day regardless.**

**TG: dirk stop**

**TT: This experience has opened my eyes on both my ignorance and the utter futility in my struggle to overcome this part of myself.**

**TT: I was always going to lose.**

**TT: It was just a matter of when.**

**TT: The thing is, I can see exactly how this could’ve happened.**

**TT: Without friends to ground me, I’m sure I would have done a fucking swan-dive into the deepest parts of my fucked-up psyche and let it roam free.**

**TT: Add a vulnerable child that I’m personally responsible for into the mix and color me shocked that I didn’t do way fucking worse than I apparently already did.**

**TG: dirk! stop it!**

**TT: I’m an idiot for not predicting this from the get-go.**

**TT: All the signs pointed to only one answer, but I was too blinded by my own self-righteous ignorance, by my utter inability to believe I could ever do something so horrendous, that I couldn’t read the words that were flashing neon right in my fucking stupid glassy-eyed gaze.**

**TT: ‘It was you.’**

**TG: DIRK SHUT THE FUCK UP ISTG**

**TG: YOU MAKE ONE MORE SELF-FLAGELLATIN BS REMARK IMA FLY 2 WHEREVER THE FUK UR AT AND BEAT UR SRY ASS IN2 THE GROUND DONT FKN TEST ME**

**TG: NOW U LISTEN 2 ME U SELF-BLAMIN SADSACK AND U LISTEN GOOD**

**TG: NONE of that shit was ur fault**

**TT: Roxy…**

**TG: NO DIRK U SIT UR PRETTY ASS DOWN AND SHUT THE FUK UP WHILE I LAY DOWN THE FACTZ**

**TT: …**

**TG: gud boi**

**TG: now dirk**

**TG: 1st of all**

**TG: *huuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuugs* ;(**

**TG: 2nd u srsly need 2 do somethin bout ur martyr complex**

**TG: even when somethin is so obsly not ur fault**

**TG: n like ur only rly tangentially involved ur like**

**TG: ‘yep it was me bring out ur pitchforks n torches im ready 2 b crucified’**

**TT: …**

**TG: n dont even TRY 2 say that aint tru**

**TG: u always talk like u n ar r the same person n while that was tru at 1 time it isnt anymore n hasnt been 4 a long ass time**

**TG: uve had diff exps n made diff choices n now ur 2 completely diff individuals**

**TG: n its the same ting w this fkn alt dimension asswipe**

**TG: n just bc he MIGHT b u from an alt reality dont mean jack shit bout whether ur gonna turn into him l8r**

**TG: bc i kno u dirk**

**TG: n no matter how much u try n deny it ur not a bad dude**

**TG: actions always speak louder than words n what was the 1st thing u did when u figured out u mighta had a hand in this kids shit upbringin (even tho u had nothin 2 fkn do w it)**

**TG: u flipped the fuk out n started messagin 1 of ur friends 4 help**

**TT: …**

**TG: n u r NOT an infection in our grp where the fuk did u even get that stutid ass idea**

**TG: we all luv u n it makes us sad when u get in these moods like u think u dont matter 2 us**

**TG: we kno ur not the best person dirk but we never expected u 2 b the next fkn gandhi**

**TG: in case u havent noticed, none of us r great ppl**

**TG: we all fuk up n were all self-centerd shitheads at times**

**TG: we never expected good dirk n we never minded bad dirk n we always luvd everythin in between**

**TG: speakin 4 me, all ive ever wanted is just 4 u 2 b happy**

**TG: n 2 stop blamin urself 4 shit that has nothin 2 do w u and ruminatin all striderlike over shit that u cant change**

**TT: Roxy…**

**TT: Can I speak yet?**

**TG: hmmmm………**

**TG: yes i spose**

**TG: ive said my piece i think**

**TG: bottom line is: ur not him dirk**

**TG: i mean cmon u were obvs upset when u thot he hated u bc ur u**

**TG: but now u kno that its bc u look like the other asshole n it had nothin 2 do w u**

**TG: i mean he ate cookies w u ffs**

**TG: n he looked p fkn ok w u in those adorbs ass pics**

**TG: u dont eat cookies w a dude u arent at least mostly ok w dirk**

**TG: u just dont**

**TT: Okay, okay. I believe you.**

**TT: Not everything you’ve said, mind you.**

**TG: >;((((**

**TT: But… enough.**

**TT: Thanks, Roxy.**

**TT: I… don’t know what I would do without you.**

**TG: probly b a way bigger douche but im sure ud live ;)**

**TT: It would be a much bleaker existence without you in it.**

**TG: bawwww!!! <333 if that isnt the sweetest dam thing uve ever said 2 me **

**TG: im cry ;(((**

**TT: Seriously though.**

**TT: Thank you. For this.**

**TT: And for. You know.**

**TT: Being there.**

**TG: IM CRYYYYY!!!11 ;(;(;(**

**TT: Please.**

**TT: This is hard for me.**

**TG: sry i kno**

**TG: talkin bout srs feelins gives u hives**

**TG: hope u got a antihistamine on hand bc we gettin ballsdeep in some gross ass EMOSHUNS**

**TT: Got my EpiPen armed and ready.**

**TG: thank goodness**

**TT: I-**

“Hey, dude…”

**TT: Hold on.**

“Can you walk me down the aisle when I get married to this pizza?” Dave asks. You look at him to find him staring at you, blank with concealed amusement. At some point during your conversation with Roxy, you’d picked up another slice of pizza to chew at idly while she tore you a new one. You finish a swallow and tilt your head in his direction.

“I would be goddamn honored,” you tell him, because you goddamn would be.

“Sweet,” he says, returning to his phone.

You look back at your conversation with Roxy.

**TG: ???**

**TG: dirk????**

**TT: Sorry, Dave wanted to know if I would walk him down the aisle for his imminent betrothal to Hawaiian-style pizza.**

**TG: omfg**

**TG: is this the same kid u said hated u**

**TG: did u need more proof that u r like the exact opposite of the fucker who raised him**

**TG: bc him puttin u in the hypothetical spot of his mama p much means uve adopted him**

**TG: or the other way round im not sure**

**TG: mayb bothways**

**TG: flippin the adoption TURNWAYS**

**TT: Jesus Christ.**

**TT: Alright, I get it.**

**TT: I’m not my alternate dimension self and am, in fact, glorious and kind and the human embodiment of all things good in this world.**

**TG: p much**

**TT: Please.**

**TG: im glad uve finally seen reason**

**TG: holdon**

**TG: rosies talkin to me brb**

**TT: Ah, yes. Your alternate universe daughter.**

**TT: I’d like to hear more about her, whenever you’re up for it.**

**TT: Maybe get some adorable and possibly embarrassing family pictures.**

**TT: You have me at a disadvantage, considering AR sent you those illicit cookie photos.**

**TG: HMMM……**

**TT: What? Mortification is a two-way street, Lalonde. Don’t make me hack into somewhere you won’t want me to hack to get my cute Lalonde family photo fix.**

**TT: I’ll do it.**

**TT: You know I will.**

**TG: no no u can hav all the disgustinly luvin family photos u want i got no hangups on that front**

**TG: its just**

**TG: what kinda weddin did u say dave wanted**

**TT: One to a pizza of the Hawaiian-style variety.**

**TT: …Why?**

**TG: well**

**TG: methinks**

**TG: weve got**

**TG: quite a coinkydents on our hands**

**TT: …What kind of coinkydents?**

**TG: the kind that involves my alt-universe daughter askin me to walk a pizza down an aisle at a shotgun vegas wedding between said pizza**

**TG: n her bff dave**

**TT: Ah.**

**TT: That kind of coinkydents.**

**TG: yeh……**

**TT: Well.**

**TT: What the actual fuck.**

**TG: ok mayb its not THAT surprisin**

**TG: considerin we kno each other n at our age the ancestors from our dimension didnt kno didly squat bout each other**

**TG: so mayb our relationships r mirrored in this dimension but… flipways???/**

**TT: You mean…**

**TG: we shud prolly talk 2 janey n jake**

**TT: Agreed.**

**TG: ill get janey**

**TT: No.**

**TG: ???**

**TT: I’ll get Jane. I needed to speak with her anyway.**

**TG: ok then**

**TG: ill get the ol jak attak then**

**TT: Sounds like a plan.**

**TT: Talk to you later, Rox.**

**TG: yeh**

**TG: n b4 i 4get**

**TG: dirk……**

**TT: ?**

**TG: if i ever hear ne of that shit from earlier leavin ur cute perma-pouty mouth again**

**TG: ima kick u in the strider family jewels**

**TG: okey? ;)**

**TT: …**

**TG: OKEY??? ;)))))**

**TT: Fine. Consider my all-consuming self-hatred fuckin’ curbed.**

**TG: fkn bless up 4 that shit**

**TG: luv u <333**

**TG: ttyl!!!**

**TT: Yeah, yeah.**

**\-- tipsyGnostalgic [TG] ceased pestering timaeusTestified [TT] at 9:13 --**

**TT: …**

**TT: <3**

**Dirk: Be the groom to beautiful, sweet, loving Hawaiian-style pizza.**

What? No. We’re not to that part yet, dammit! Stay linear!

Currently, you are salivating over the first bite of pizza you’ve yet to take. It hovers in front of your lovestruck eyes, baiting you like a coy lover. You lick your lips in anticipation, heart thundering in your ears, palms sweating lightly. You’ve never been more nervous in your life.

You take your first bite.

The wave of flavor caresses your tongue like an old flame and you _just_ stop yourself from making an obscene noise. It’s the perfect blend of rich and tangy and everything good in the world. You are not making love to this pizza, this pizza is making love to _you_. You are this pizza’s bitch, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Once you pull yourself out of your own euphoric high, you realize Dirk hasn’t said a thing. He’s currently staring blankly into the middle distance, chewing on one bite over and over in a motion not dissimilar to a cow’s. It’s… off-putting, to say the least, and you have no idea what to make of it.

**Dave: Fast forward, we already know what happens here.**

You fast forward through another awkward misunderstanding with Dirk and thank the gods for that shit. You’ve had enough of those to last a lifetime already.

In lieu of that conversation, you take a leaf from Dirk’s book and pull out your phone after thoroughly de-greasifying your digits. You open up PesterChum. You have unread messages from John, apparently, but before you can click on his name you get a new message from Rose.

As your finger hovers above her username, you have a rather mortifying flashback to last night, where you unabashedly and unhesitatingly told Rose that you _loved her_. Never in your life can you remember actively expressing anything towards Rose save begrudging, ironic companionship, and yet you told Rose you loved her yesterday like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Which… might not have been the most embarrassing thing you confessed to her yesterday, to be honest. In fact, remembering that entire exchange is making your face heat up and tempting you to avoid Rose for the next… forever, if possible. That conversation alone could have filled an entire fucked up ‘patient log’ of you that you’re not sure Rose is lying about keeping.

But… maybe Rose will be chill about it? She’s turned a blind eye to your outbursts of honesty before, even if she brought it up at a later date for her own dastardly purposes. Maybe she’s equally embarrassed, considering she said it back to you, and you’ll both mutually, non-verbally agree to never ever bring it up again in your natural-born lives.

Considering your shared propensity for burying honest feelings so deep that it’s like they’re the secret final boss of a long-winded puzzle game, you’re feeling pretty optimistic about the chance that that’s right.

**Dave: Fuck it. Answer Rose.**

**\-- tentacleTherapist [TT] started pestering turntechGodhead [TG] at 08:24 -- **

**TT: Feeling any better?**

God dammit.

**TG: god dammit rose**

**TG: here i was all gungho about turning my stupid bleary-eyed gaze away from the absolute fucking train wreck of trauma i unpacked on you yesterday**

**TG: expecting you to pay me the common courtesy of pretending it never happened and easily slipping back into the mutually antagonistic relationship we both know and love**

**TG: okay maybe not love**

**TG: maybe that is a loaded word right now and you should forget i mentioned it**

**TG: much like you should be forgetting about every other dumb revelatory thing ive said in the past 24 hours so we can go back to being snarky assholes who are above human emotion**

**TT: I’m afraid I can’t do that, Dave.**

**TG: dont you fucking meme at me during this trying time**

**TT: Sorry.**

**TG: no youre not**

**TT: No, I’m not.**

**TT: Besides, you and I both know the notion that either of us are above the sentimental drivel the rest of humanity is condemned to is extremely laughable.**

**TT: We just had a mutual lapse in our android coding that inhibits our experience of the repulsive human emotion called ‘friendship’.**

**TT: Rest assured, I’m not going to be dredging up any part of that conversation for any reason unless you specifically bring it up on your own.**

**TT: Because contrary to popular belief, I am not a total fucking bitch.**

**TG: …**

**TG: yeah i know**

**TT: That being said, Dave.**

**TT: I wasn’t asking to rehash yesterday’s correspondence.**

**TT: I was just asking one of those typical colloquialisms used in our society in place of the preferred ironic non-sequitur demarcating most of our own far superior conversational pieces.**

**TT: So, let me reiterate: how are you feeling?**

**TG: ugh**

**TG: cant we skip to the banter**

**TG: im done with vomiting my feelings over every available surface in my pathetically emotionally vulnerable line of sight**

**TG: possibly for the next decade**

**TT: Humor me.**

**TG: why**

**TT: Are you going to make me spell it out?**

**TG: guess so**

**TT: Because I care about you.**

**TT: Asshole.**

**TG: oh**

**TG: uh**

**TG: sorry**

**TG: i mean**

**TG: …**

**TG: yeah**

**TG: im fine**

**TG: probably the best ive been in awhile actually**

**TT: Oh?**

**TG: yeah**

**TG: woke up to a puppet-free fanciful dreamland and got to order my own pizza**

**TG: with breadsticks**

**TG: so im like**

**TG: pretty much living the life**

**TT: Breadsticks are the key to everlasting happiness. It is an immutable fact.**

**TG: duh**

**TG: the hawaiian pizza and complete lack of plush rumps and googly eyes staring me down at every turn is just a bonus**

**TT: So no more puppets?**

**TG: no more puppets**

**TG: apparently dirk hates em**

**TG: so he just sort of**

**TG: tossed em all out the window**

**TT: …What.**

**TT: Don’t you live on the highest floor?**

**TG: yeah**

**TG: it was fucking hilarious**

**TG: almost collapsed a lung when i heard about it**

**TG: i woke up to the landlord chewing his head off and dirk wasnt even flinching**

**TG: the dude is even more stone cold than me**

**TT: So his name’s Dirk?**

**TG: yeah**

**TG: ive had to ban him from opening the door**

**TG: honestly i probably should have done it when he was full-on ready to skewer our friendly next door old lady with a katana but**

**TG: ive got a forgiving heart what can i say**

**TG: granted the shit with the landlord was hilarious as fuck**

**TG: and the shit with the delivery girl jesus christ**

**TG: dude is so unintentionally funny it is unreal**

**TT: It sounds like you like him.**

**TG: whoa lets not get ahead of ourselves here rose**

**TG: throwin around the l word so brazenly like goddamn**

**TG: im a sensitive boy**

**TT: I know.**

**TG: but yeah hes cool**

**TG: not sure yet whether its because i genuinely like him as a person or if its because the bar is set so ludicrously low that its literally off the charts how abysmal my standards are**

**TT: I’m willing to bet on the former.**

**TT: He seems like a good guy.**

**TT: Even if some of his actions are a bit questionable.**

**TG: any person who spends their early mornings throwing heaps of puppet ass out a twenty-first floor window is good in my books**

**TG: in fact that is the least questionable act a man can commit**

**TT: He pointed a sword at an old lady.**

**TG: well there was a door separating them so im not sure that counts**

**TG: more importantly**

**TG: have you ever tried pineapple on pizza**

**TG: shits absolutely banana fuckin bonkers levels of orgasmic**

**TG: i have found religion and its name is hawaiian style**

**TT: Mother was never a big fan of pizza.**

**TT: I think she believed it to be too unhealthy.**

**TT: Which, thinking about it, is kind of hilarious considering her propensity for drinking her breakfasts, lunches, and dinners, more often than not.**

**TG: holy shit all im hearing is cardinal sin**

**TG: you need to repent right the fuck now**

**TG: pizza huts gonna hunt your ass down for such apostasy**

**TG: is teen mom more lax on the italian delicacies front because**

**TG: this is a crime that cannot go unpunished**

**TT: And the punishment is the reversal of the crime itself?**

**TG: exactly**

**TG: youre lucky hawaiian style is such a forgiving god**

**TT: I’ll be sure to pay penance to its eternal oven.**

**TG: afuckinmen**

**TT: I’m sure Roxy would be amenable to pizza.**

**TT: Perhaps not at half past nine, although she does seem the type to enthusiastically endorse irresponsible pizza consumption no matter the time of day.**

**TG: sounds like my kinda gal**

**TT: Yes. I have no doubts that the two of you would get along alarmingly well.**

**TT: And that is why I’m reluctant to ever allow you to meet.**

**TG: man**

**TG: second time today with that shit**

**TG: first dirk wont let me talk to his sick ai**

**TG: and now you wont let me meet mom**

**TG: if i was any less full of pizza and any more surrounded by impudent plush dongles then i would be pretty insulted right now**

**TG: but no ive reached greasy enlightenment**

**TG: time to phone up buddha**

**TG: ask him to reincarnate me as a pineapple so that i may too be consumed atop a holy mixture of tomato sauce cheese ham and bread**

**TG: the circle of life is a beautiful thing rose**

**TT: Consider me beholden to its glory.**

**TG: fuck yeah**

**TT: The offer still stands, you know.**

**TG: what offer**

**TT: Flying you up here.**

**TT: You can even bring Dirk, if you want.**

**TT: I just think it might be a good idea for you to get out of the apartment, now that your brother isn’t there.**

**TG: well technically**

**TT: You know what I mean.**

**TT: Now that there are no factors in the equation to restrict you from spreading your wings and flying the proverbial coop, I think it is high time we met in person.**

**TG: what are you implying**

**TT: Why do you think I’m implying anything?**

**TG: because everything you say is layered in deeper meaning and vague uncomfortable insinuations about my crumbling psyche**

**TT: I’m not that bad, am I?**

**TG: sometimes kinda yeah**

**TT: Oh.**

**TG: its fine i just**

**TG: im not a prisoner in my own home rose jesus**

**TT: Are you sure about that?**

**TG: bro wasnt like**

**TG: holding me here against my will ok**

**TG: i could leave whenever i wanted**

**TG: self-governing freedom all up in this bitch**

**TG: its not his fault that i chose not to**

**TG: im just a homebody ok everything i need is in this apartment why would i need to leave**

**TT: Okay. I believe you.**

**TG: thank you**

**TT: I still think you should fly up here, though.**

**TG: ugh**

**TG: must i**

**TT: It’s a request, Dave, not a demand.**

**TT: I’m not ordering you here and I won’t feel chagrined or upset should you refuse.**

**TG: …**

**TT: You don’t have to answer now, but I would like you to think about it.**

**TG: yeah yeah you got it**

**TG: anyway back to actual important topics**

**TG: im taking this pizza to vegas**

**TG: we are getting hitched by an elvis impersonator and i want you to be my best man**

**TT: I would be honored.**

**TT: What about John?**

**TG: are you kidding johns the flower girl**

**TG: dirks the ringbearer because i dont trust jade not to conk out on her way to the altar and send the rings scattering like a couple of loose coins**

**TG: im not spendin all night in a suit on my knees lookin for over-expensive pieces of jewelry meant to represent some shit like the sanctimony of my marriage**

**TG: my blushing bride is waiting ok and she only has so much time before shes going to get all hard and stinky**

**TG: i mean shell always be beautiful to me but youre supposed to be like extra beautiful on your wedding day or something and hell if im going to take that away from my new wife**

**TT: What is Jade doing then?**

**TG: jades my dad obviously**

**TG: somebodys gotta walk me down the aisle and symbolically hand the virginal reins over to my fiancee**

**TT: Isn’t Dirk more suited for that job?**

**TG: i mean i guess**

**TG: but then whos gonna be the ringbearer**

**TT: What about Jade’s dog?**

**TG: oh shit youre right that would be cute as fuck**

**TG: alright change of plans then**

**TG: dirk is now walking me down the aisle and the dog is now the adorable ringbearer**

**TG: wait let me ask him if thats ok**

**TT: I’ll be feverishly awaiting the verdict.**

“Hey, dude, can you walk me down the aisle when I get married to this pizza?” you ask, raising your head to look at where he still sits across the table, chewing idly and presumably talking on his shades.

He tilts his head in your direction and says flatly, “I would be goddamn honored.”

“Sweet,” you say, and look back at your phone.

**TG: alright dirk said yes**

**TG: now jade can be like the maid of honor i guess**

**TG: oh shit what about my blushing bride who is gonna walk her down the aisle**

**TT: Should I ask Roxy?**

**TG: fuck yeah**

**TG: the circle of stupidity is almost complete**

**TG: i can almost taste the twenty-one-tiered pizza-themed vanilla and pineapple wedding cake now**

**TG: wait shit**

**TG: would that be cannibalistic**

**TG: maybe uh**

**TG: maybe scratch that idea**

**TG: we might just need to have a normal ass cake instead**

**TG: dont tell my wife i thought about having a pizza-themed cake she might realize one of my many flaws**

**TG: this specific one being foot-in-mouth syndrome**

**TG: and its too early in the marriage for her to realize how much she doesnt actually love me**

**TT: Consider my lips sealed.**

**TG: what did mom say**

**TT: Mission: Hawaiian-Style Matrimony is a go.**

**TT: We may proceed as scheduled.**

**TG: sweet**

**TG: first though ima go respond to egderp**

**TG: bitch is needier than my new almost-wife**

**TG: blowin up my phone like its southern nevada**

**TG: plastic 50s-lookin families watching in awe as egbert reaches new unprecedented levels of desperate**

**TG: fuckin completely wipes out a city with his nasally whines for my dick**

**TT: John is whining for your dick?**

**TG: probably**

**TT: Damn.**

**TT: You better go cater to your growing harem then.**

**TT: It’s inadvisable to leave your bitch in heat alone for too long, he might find another alpha to mate.**

**TG: god dammit rose**

**TG: suck all the fun out of everything with your gay allusions why dont you**

**TT: I’m not the one that should be doing the sucking, Dave.**

**TG: i refuse to comment on that**

**TT: Good call.**

**TG: aight im gonna go lavish john in the dave attention that he so desperately craves now**

**TT: And I’m the one making it gay?**

**TG: …**

**TG: shit**

**TT: Goodbye, Dave.**

**\-- tentacleTherapist [TT] ceased pestering turntechGodhead [TG] at 9:11 --**

**Dave: Answer lovesick wench.**

**\-- ectoBiologist [EB] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG] at 20:21 -- **

**EB: hey im back!**

**\-- turntechGodhead [TG] is now an idle chum! -- **

**EB: aw man…**

**EB: guess i’ll catch you tomorrow then.**

**EB: night, dave!**

**\-- ectoBiologist [EB] ceased pestering turntechGodhead [TG] at 20:23 --**

**\-- ectoBiologist [EB] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG] at 09:06 -- **

**EB: hey!**

**EB: i know your lazy ass probably isn’t going to be up for about five more hours.**

**EB: but i just wanted to tell you...**

**EB: that…**

**EB: i…**

**EB: wanted to say…**

**EB: …**

**EB …hi!**

**EB: :B**

**EB: and also you will not believe what happened to me yesterday.**

**EB: besides the whole random teenage nanna doppelganger thing.**

**EB: jane and my dad teamed up and made me a three-tiered birthday cake.**

**EB: can you say ‘worst birthday ever’!**

**TG: wow yeah**

**TG: i cant think of a single person who has it tougher than you egbert**

**EB: dave!**

**TG: it must be such a goddamn hardship being on the receiving end of baked goods that someone has painstakingly made for you to happily commemorate the day of your birth**

**TG: its almost like they care or something**

**TG: despicable**

**EB: yeah! it sucks!**

**EB: anyway, now that you’re here, i can finally continue with my story from yesterday.**

**TG: right**

**TG: hot teen nanna**

**EB: if you call jane hot ONE MORE TIME im going to revoke story-listening privileges, mister!**

**EB: don’t think i won’t!!**

**TG: whoa man chill**

**TG: you know i cant live without your primo egbertian narrative blundering**

**TG: its practically the highlight of my life**

**EB: then no more hot nanna comments!**

**TG: yeah fine**

**TG: ill keep my tongue to myself**

**EB: good.**

**TG: cant say the same for her though**

**TG: striders are known for their irresistible allure**

**\-- ectoBiologist [EB] has blocked turntechGodhead [TG]! -- **

**TG: what**

**\-- ectoBiologist [EB] did not receive this message! -- **

**TG: no**

**\-- ectoBiologist [EB] did not receive this message! -- **

**TG: man**

**\-- ectoBiologist [EB] did not receive this message! -- **

**TG: egbert**

**\-- ectoBiologist [EB] did not receive this message! -- **

**TG: john**

**\-- ectoBiologist [EB] did not receive this message! -- **

**TG: cmon**

**\-- ectoBiologist [EB] did not receive this message! -- **

**TG: it was a joke dude**

**\-- ectoBiologist [EB] did not receive this message! -- **

**TG: mostly**

**\-- ectoBiologist [EB] did not receive this message! -- **

**TG: ugh**

**EB: are you going to behave now?**

**TG: yes dad ill be good**

**EB: great!**

**EB: so first of all i don’t think she’s my nanna.**

**TG: aw cmon**

**TG: why all the regulations then**

**TG: you dont even have a reason now**

**EB: dave!**

**TG: fine**

**TG: why dyou think that**

**EB: well…**

**EB: she’s slipped and called my dad ‘dad’ a few times.**

**EB: and by a few, i mean a lot.**

**TG: thats**

**TG: pretty fuckin weird**

**EB: yeah.**

**EB: so i think she might just be a crazy person.**

**TG: a hot one?**

**TG: dont block me**

**EB: grrr……**

**EB: you’re on thin ice, dave, don’t test me.**

**TG: ok**

**TG: so shes not your nanna then**

**EB: yeah… possibly.**

**TG: possibly**

**EB: possibly.**

**TG: i thought you were sure**

**EB: UGH i don’t know what to think about any of it!**

**EB: and rose is being even more cryptic than usual and not helpful at all.**

**EB: and telling me to talk to you.**

**EB: i think she was just trolling me, now that i think about it.**

**EB: considering you’re about as helpful as a bag of rocks!**

**TG: hey**

**TG: i take offense to the implication that the only thing im good for is a blunt force weapon of sediment**

**EB: jade’s the only reasonable one out of you guys right now and clearly there is something wrong if that’s the case.**

**TG: damn youre right**

**TG: harley is like**

**TG: the antithesis of competent helpfulness**

**TG: she lives and breathes vagueposting**

**EB: I KNOW!!!**

**EB: but we’re in the same situation.**

**EB: and it’s weird.**

**EB: her granddad’s body is gone and so are my nanna’s ashes.**

**EB: they both showed up out of the blue on the same date.**

**EB: they both share the same names as our grandparents.**

**EB: they both say they’re from the future.**

**EB: they both think that we’re their grandparents.**

**EB: and they both talk, look, and act like our grandparents!**

**TG: so**

**TG: what youre saying is**

**TG: theyre your grandparents**

**EB: ARGH!!!**

**EB: i don’t know.**

**TG: that seems like a lot of damning evidence for the ‘not-nanna’ case dude**

**TG: i mean im no expert**

**TG: but even if theyre not your grandparents it sounds like theres some sort of relation**

**TG: like with dirk**

**EB: dirk?**

**TG: yeah**

**TG: i didnt believe him at first but after spending time with him i find it pretty fuckin unlikely that we arent related somehow**

**TG: and not just because the dudes a carbon fuckin copy of my bro**

**EB: what are you talking about?**

**EB: who’s dirk??**

**TG: oh**

**TG: you think youre the only ones on the jolly ride to displaced teen family time travelers john**

**TG: cuz i got some news for you**

**EB: WHAT???**

**TG: yeah he showed up yesterday**

**TG: nothing dramatic like a resurrection but**

**TG: my bros gone now and hes here instead**

**TG: cant say its not an improvement tbh**

**EB: !!! dude!**

**EB: no wonder you’ve been so cool about this…**

**TG: well yeah**

**TG: i mean your clusterfuck is kind of different**

**TG: but there are so many similarities that im just sitting over here like ‘yawn good lord this shit again?’**

**TG: never thought id be able to say that i find time traveling as a boring and lackluster event but here we are i guess**

**TG: actually i think ive said that exact thing before**

**TG: although idk why i would say that but im used to saying shit and then not knowing why i said it so fuck it i guess**

**EB: wait… so…**

**EB: how much of this wasn’t news to you?**

**TG: most of it**

**TG: the only thing different is the weird shit where your nanna is calling your dad dad**

**TG: other than that yeah**

**TG: this shits pretty much old fuckin news these days johnny boy**

**TG: were all on an unstoppable train of stupid dumbfuck shenanigans**

**TG: except its on fire and everyones screaming and no one knows what the fuck is going on**

**EB: ugh.**

**EB: i just don’t know what to think…**

**EB: none of it makes sense!**

**TG: wow john cant say im not shocked**

**TG: thought that living out a back to the future fantasy would make you instantly cream your pants or something**

**EB: NO!**

**EB: this is NOTHING like back to the future, dave!!!!**

**EB: this is shitty knock-off straight-to-video back to the future where there are so many godawful twists that no one knows what the movie is even about anymore!!!!**

**EB: and it completely devalues the concept in the original cinematic masterpiece!!!!!!!**

**TG: did i like**

**TG: hit a nerd rage button**

**TG: are you ok**

**EB: i’m fine, just…**

**EB: mostly weirded out by all this, i guess.**

**TG: yeah**

**TG: me too man**

**EB: i don’t know.**

**EB: i guess it doesn’t really matter where she came from or who she really is.**

**EB: she’s really nice and friendly! and i like her.**

**EB: and i think that’s what really matters!**

**TG: uh not really**

**TG: i mean thats cool and all**

**TG: really dig this whole zen hippie state youve somehow ascended to in a matter of minutes**

**TG: but**

**TG: we should probably figure out what the fuck is going on**

**EB: that’s what we have you for!**

**TG: wow john**

**TG: im not just some sleuthing hussy that you can order around to do all the dirty work in this shitty investigation while youre off gallivanting with teen nanna having a gay old time in casa de egbert baked goods utopia**

**TG: i have feelings too you know**

**EB: lol.**

**EB: you’re right.**

**EB: i forgot you’re hopeless.**

**EB: rose will probably figure it out somehow.**

**TG: wow fuck you?**

**EB: anyway! i’m gonna go gallivant with my teen nanna!**

**TG: wait what**

**EB: me and dad are showing her around town today.**

**TG: are you serious**

**EB: bye dave!**

**\-- ectoBiologist [EB] ceased pestering turntechGodhead [TG] at 9:41 -- **

**TG: fucking**

**TG: egbert**

You close out the chat window with a huff. Fucking Egbert, indeed. You had nothing of note to tell him, but what the fuck. What kind of person discovers all this worldview-upheaving bullshit and goes ‘welp, I’m not figuring _this_ shit out anytime soon. Might as well leave it to some other schmuck while I go about life like nothing is wrong! Weeee!’

Only fucking John fucking Egbert, is who. And possibly Jade. Because they’re totally related.

You look up to find Dirk leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed, staring at you intently. You definitely don’t jump in your seat and squeak like a mouse. That is definitely something that did not happen in any timeline, anywhere, ever.

You wonder how long he’s been sitting there like that.

“What is it, dude?” your proud that your voice doesn’t shake on the question.

“I think,” he says in his typical monotone, “that we should go grocery shopping.”

You stare at him blankly.

You think very hard about saying ‘oh, what the fuck’ and then switching PoV to someone else, to continue some sort of vague running gag from the beginning of this shit show. Another Strider, perhaps? That would be totally shocking and unexpected! No one will ever see _that_ shit coming.

But then you think, why? This is possibly the least outlandish thing the dude has said today. In fact, you can think of no better way to spend the day then going buckwild in a grocery store and buying out the entire apple juice aisle, if such an aisle exists. For once in your life, you’re getting free goddamn rein on what you get to eat and when you get to eat it. It’s like Christmas has come early, and the Christmas, for once, is like a normal happy Christmas instead of the sad kind of scary Christmas that you’re used to. You’re going to buy _so many fucking Bagel Bites, dude. So fucking many._

“Dude,” you say, full of a weighty solemnity that has you placing a hand over your heart to _really_ fucking sell it, “that is the best fucking idea anybody ever had.”

He wordlessly holds out a fist over the table for you to bump.

And really, what kind of bro would you be if you ever left a dude’s fist unbumped?

A pretty bad fuckin’ bro, if you ask you.

**Wait. Hold up. Rewind. We gotta see the conversation with Dirk and Jane.**

What? What do you mean? You don’t wanna see Dirk and Dave grocery shopping? Because I guarantee you, that shit is going to be cute as fuck. Illegal levels of adorable. Gonna have to arrest both Striders on account of cheek-pinchingly loveable antics. It will be sickening, and it will be glorious.

But you wanna go _back_? What’s wrong with you?

Just for that conversation, you say? Okay, well what if I tell you that you can have only one or the other. You can have the cake, but you can’t eat it too! Hoohoo!

…

No, you’re right. I’ll just end up writing both, so I should probably just get on with it.

Okay, fine. I’ll DO IT. But I won’t LIKE IT.

Not a lot, anyway.

Fuck you.

**Be Dirk and have the damn Jane conversation already.**

You are now Dirk, continuing to read where you left off earlier before your daily bout of existential crisis.

**GG: I think I might be more out of sorts than I thought…**

**TT: And the other thing?**

**GG: Huh?**

**TT: The other ‘tangentially relevant but still worth mentioning’ thing.**

**GG: Oh! Right…**

**GG: Well, bit of an odd coincidence, but John and I share a birthday!**

You suck in a quiet breath.

Oh…

Oh fuck.

**GG: Color me surprised, and mildly mortified, when I find my father who isn’t my father baking a birthday cake, only to find that it isn’t for me.**

**GG: Not that I was too concerned with my usual party proceedings, mind you. There was much bigger stuff going on for anyone to worry about a silly old birthday.**

Fuck.

How could you forget one of your best friends’ birthdays? Spontaneous upheaval of your entire reality isn’t an _excuse_. You’re really slipping in the compartmentalization department.

You continue reading.

Your eyebrows immediately shoot up.

**GG: Stop it right there, mister!**

**GG: Dirk, whenever you’re reading this, I know you’re going to be upset with yourself for forgetting.**

**GG: I’m derailing the Strider blame train before it can even gain steam!**

**GG: I will not stand for your self-inflicted guilt-mongering!**

**GG: Consider it your birthday present to me. ;B**

**GG: Yes, I did just wink.**

**GG: Don’t let it get to your head, Dirk. You know I love you, but I only see you as a good friend!**

**GG: It would never work out between us.**

**GG: …;B**

**GG: Anywho! Enough of this who struck John (hoohoo!), I’ve got an early day tomorrow! John and my not-dad want to show me around town.**

**GG: I haven’t the heart to tell them that it looks nearly identical to my own, sans the multitudinous Crocker product placements.**

**GG: Good-bye, Dirk. And good night, AR!**

**TT: Wait. What about the last thing?**

**GG: Hm? What last thing?**

**TT: The thing you deemed irrelevant.**

**GG: OH! Don’t you worry your silly robo-head about that nonsense! I can say with a fair amount of certainty that it is most likely completely impertinent to the ongoing investigation!**

**TT: But you’re not *absolutely* certain?**

**GG: Erm, well… I…**

**GG: Okay. Well, Dirk mentioned waking up in different clothes, correct? And both Roxy and Jake told me something to the same effect when I briefly touched base with them yesterday.**

**TT: Yes, he did mention that.**

**GG: Well! Um. That is to say…**

**GG: The rest of you seem to have replaced someone who was, for lack of a better word, tangible.**

**GG: My situation was a bit… um… different.**

**TT: Different how?**

**GG: …**

**TT: Look. Whatever it is, I guarantee it can’t be more embarrassing than some of the things Dirk’s gotten up to in the past few days.**

**GG: Oh? Do tell.**

**\-- timaeusTestified [TT] sent a file: blackmailfodder_344.mp4 --**

**TT: This is when he went ass over anime shades over the back of a futon.**

You’re going to fucking kill him.

**GG: Pffffttt…… Hahahahahaha!**

**GG: Oh my goodness, the SOUND he makes!**

Your face isn’t red it is merely temporary, spontaneous sunburn.

**GG: I hope you don’t mind, Dirk, but I’m setting this as my notification sound for you. Jiminy crickets.**

**GG: I really needed that. Thank you, AR. I will prize this birthday gift for the rest of my life.**

That’s it.

**Dirk: Reprimand AR.**

**\-- timaeusTestified [TT] began pestering timaeusTestified [TT] at 9:23 --**

**TT: Why?**

**TT: I’m testing a new theory.**

**TT: And what would this theory be, pray tell?**

**TT: Whether or not you have a humiliation kink.**

**TT: …**

**TT: So? How are you feeling?**

**TT: Hot and bothered? Heavily titillated? Harder than a block of uranium?**

**TT: Fuck you.**

**TT: Ooh, self-cest! I’m adding it to the list.**

**\-- timaeusTestified [TT] ceased pestering timaeusTestified [TT] at 9:24 --**

**Dirk: Pretend that didn’t happen and move on.**

Pretend what didn’t happen? Conversation? You see no such thing, unless you mean the one with Jane, which we’re continuing to read through now.

**TT: You’re welcome.**

**GG: *Snoooort!***

**GG: I will never get over this soundbyte, no matter how much I use it.**

**GG: Hoo boy.**

**TT: So you were saying?**

**GG: PFBT!**

**GG: Oh, right!**

**GG: Well, my situation is still decidedly more mortifying, in my opinion, but I at least feel a little better about it now.**

**GG: Let’s just say the woman I came back and replaced was in an urn on top of the mantel and leave it at that.**

**TT: Jane.**

**TT: Jane, did you wake up naked on top of a fireplace?**

**GG: BOY HOWDY, WOULD YOU LOOK AT THE TIME.**

**TT: It’s for science, Jane.**

**GG: GEE WILLIKERS BUT I AM BEAT.**

**GG: TIME TO HIT THE HAY!**

**TT: Did you smash the urn or did it disappear with the ashes?**

**GG: GOOD NIGHT, AR.**

**\-- gutsyGumshoe [GG] ceased pestering timaeusTestified [TT] at 21:11 --**

You release a silent breath slowly out of your nose. AR’s rampant betrayal aside, you didn’t learn anything new from this exchange which is… kind of a fucking relief, really. There are enough irons in the fire as it is.

The only important takeaway was your total failure as a friend. And the fact that Jane woke up naked on some relative stranger’s mantel - for the hilarity, but mostly for the blackmail.

More importantly, you need to attempt to rectify your dismal friend performance. That, at least, you can do without making your near-constant headache even worse.

**\-- timaeusTestified [TT] began pestering gutsyGumshoe [GG] at 9:27 --**

**TT: Hey.**

**TT: I’m sure you’re out right now with your grandpa-grandson and your not-dad dad-son, but I just wanted to say…**

**TT: Ignoring our mutually assured mortification at the dubious mercy of a megalomaniacal AI…**

**TT: I just wanted to wish you a happy belated birthday.**

**TT: So. Happy belated birthday, Jane.**

**TT: And I’m sorry.**

**TT: This horse shit is taking more of my mental energy than I should have allowed, and I let some important things slip through the cracks in the meanwhile.**

**GG: Hm, what is that smell, Dirk?**

**TT: Oh, hey.**

**TT: I thought you’d be out by now.**

**GG: Oh, I am! But I was getting very odd looks from both my escorts at the sound of your messages.**

**TT: Please, for the love of all things, change it.**

**GG: Hoo hoo hoo! Maybe on YOUR birthday. :B**

**GG: Anyway, as I was saying.**

**GG: What’s that smell, Dirk?**

**GG: Because it smells an awful lot like self-loathing to me!**

**GG: Like you’re doing the exact thing I told you not to do.**

**GG: You missed my birthday, the least you could do is listen to a poor girl’s request to go easy on yourself for once in your life…**

**TT: Are you guilt tripping me right now?**

**GG: Most certainly.**

**TT: Shameless.**

**GG: Hoo hoo!**

**GG: Well, as you know, my attention is much sought after.**

**TT: I don’t doubt it.**

**GG: So I’ll talk to you later!**

**GG: And please, at least make an effort to adhere to my request.**

**TT: I’ll be on my very best behavior.**

**GG: Glad to hear it. :B**

**TT: But I do actually have a question for you, before you go.**

**GG: My estranged family are getting antsier by the minute.**

**GG: Make it snappy!**

**TT: Can you ask John if he knows a Dave?**

**GG: …Bit of an odd request there, Dirk.**

**GG: Care to explain first?**

**TT: Call it information gathering.**

**GG: Tight-lipped as always, I see.**

**GG: …**

**GG: He says yes.**

You want to be surprised, but you’re pretty much dead inside at this point.

**GG: A very enthusiastic yes, actually. He assured me no less than eleven times in the span of a half-minute that he and Dave are, in fact, the best of bros.**

**GG: It took him another minute to realize that he should be confused that I even asked the question to begin with.**

**TT: That’s pretty adorable.**

**GG: It pretty much is!**

**TT: What about a Rose?**

**GG: Standby.**

**GG: Another resounding, if way more bewildered, yes.**

**GG: He’s asking me questions I don’t know how to answer, Dirk.**

**TT: I’m sure you’re fine.**

**GG: Hoo hoo! You got me.**

**GG: I do so enjoy poking fun at him at every given opportunity! He’s like the little brother I never had.**

**GG: This particular situation may not boost my prankster’s gambit, but it’s still highly amusing.**

**GG: Now – purely for my own sake, who are Dave and Rose?**

**TT: My teen bro and Roxy’s teen mom.**

**GG: Oh!**

**GG: Oh.**

**GG: …Oh…**

**TT: Yeah.**

**GG: What the fuck.**

**TT: My thoughts exactly.**

**TT: Roxy’s asking Jake about it, but I’m sure we can safely throw his grandmother into our teen ancestors’ friend group as well.**

**GG: My, my. The plot thickens yet again, eh?**

**TT: Do I detect the belated emergence of your inner sleuth?**

**GG: Mayhaps you do! :B**

**GG: Alas, currently my skilled investigative prowess is otherwise occupied by John dragging me and dad into a bakery.**

**GG: I suspect he plans on some pastry-based revenge, but he is years too early to catch up with my finely-tuned trickster expertise!**

**TT: Yeah, I’ve tied you up long enough.**

**TT: Try not to publicly humiliate your ancestor *too* much.**

**TT: Or if you do, at least get all of it on camera and send it to me later.**

**GG: Of course! What do you take me for, an amateur? :B**

**TT: Never.**

**GG: I’ll get back to you later for more of the lowdown on this whole mess.**

**TT: I’ll await your return like an army wife on a train platform, handkerchief and all.**

**GG: Well, that image is certainly befitting of the feminine shriek I’ve set as your text sound!**

**TT: …**

**GG: Hoo hoo!**

**GG: Toodle-oo, Dirky-poo.**

**\-- gutsyGumshoe [GG] ceased pestering timaeusTestified [TT] at 9:39 -- **

**Dirk: Assess.**

Dave is still sitting across from you, hunched over his phone and clearly messaging someone. He has half a breadstick sticking out of his mouth and he’s absentmindedly chewing it. Both boxes are open and empty, and the content ache in your stomach leads you to believe you both had equal hands in it. You haven’t felt this full in _years_ , and you could still probably eat a little more.

Yeah, you’re definitely ordering more pizzas next time.

You glance around the room, still littered with piles of weapons and trash. The sooner you figure out the trash situation the better. As far as you could gather from AR’s brief synopsis, it involves trash bags and dumpsters.

You stare at Dave again, watching him frown lightly at his phone as his fingers fly over the touchscreen. Securing future meals is probably ideal, especially if you get ripped back out of this reality with no warning. You also need to do your best to make this shithole as livable as possible as _soon_ as possible, partially for your own neat freak sanity since you’re going to be here for an indeterminate amount of time, but mostly for Dave. AR snidely informed you what grocery stores are earlier as if you were a totally irredeemable ignoramus – you may be in the dark about some of the smaller shit, but you know what a goddamn grocery store is. You’ve even raided a few, in the past.

You feel like it’ll be a lot different looking at one that’s, you know, above water and with actual people in it. But you still know what it _is._ You’re pretty sure you can find cleaning supplies there, too, so it’ll be killing two birds with one stone.

You take a minute scanning through a map of the surrounding area, scoping out possible locations based on quality and distance, when Dave finally looks up from his phone. You’d sort of spaced out staring at him, and you almost wince when his back suddenly goes ramrod straight and he makes a startled squeaky noise that you avidly pretend you didn’t hear. His anxiety is back full-force and so is your hatred for the abomination that raised him.

_‘You’re not him_ ,’ Roxy’s voice reminds you, and you will yourself to relax. No sense tensing up and making Dave even _more_ nervous. You gotta give him no reason to think you’d ever raise a hand against him. Because you wouldn’t. You’d sooner chop off both of your hands then point a sword at Dave again.

“What is it, dude?” he asks, clearly doing his best to mask his nervousness. You make sure not to even twitch a facial muscle to indicate that you can tell.

“I think that we should go grocery shopping.”

He stares at you, apprehension bleeding to confusion and then to enthusiasm that he’s having trouble suppressing. It makes the tiniest of smiles blossom on your face.

What can you say? Fucker’s cute.

“Dude,” he says, voice shaking with exaggerated emotion as he holds a dramatic hand to his heart, “that is the best fucking idea anybody ever had.”

“Hell yes,” you say, “you ready to go?”

“Shit, now?” he looks surprised, but he’s also already standing up. “I mean, I guess. It’s not like I’ve got a packed schedule or anything. I usually just go wherever the wind takes me, and I guess today it’s taking me to the juice aisle in Wal-Mart.”

“Awesome,” you get up, too, and start heading towards the hallway, “I’ll just grab my sword then.”

“Okay,” Dave responds, clearly still fantasizing about the juice aisle. Then, as you pass him: “wait, what.”

**Dave: Dude, no.**

It takes you a full twenty minutes to convince Dirk to leave his sword at home. Dude was fucking _adamant_ about it – he lobbied so hard that you felt like you were the mayor of a small town and Dirk was the entire town hall meeting. The guy drives a hard bargain, you’ll give him that, but somehow you feel like it’s a bad idea for Dirk to just blatantly carry a sword around in an open carry state. Texans may be chill with an AK, but a sword? You don’t know how that’d go down.

It took you and his AI both to convince him to leave it, which was rad as fuck. The AI thing, not the ‘how long it took you to convince your brother to leave a deadly weapon at home for a grocery trip’ thing. Now you want to talk to the thing even more, but first: grocery store. You’re so hyped that it’s gone way past ‘embarrassing’ and landed on ‘Egbert talking about how Con Air is a great movie, unironically’. The entire trip over, after explaining to Dirk how public transportation works and successfully boarding a bus, you fought hard to contain your jittery excitement.

You’re not sure it was too successful, considering the amused glances Dirk kept sending you every time he caught you gripping your knees too hard or unconsciously humming a beat. Those exchanges were mortifying in and of themselves, but such a far cry from Bro that it at least never made you flinch like a pansy.

And now you’re finally here. Staring up at the Wal-Mart sign like it’s the gates to heaven, and it kind of fucking is. You’ve gone grocery shopping a handful of times for essentials when Bro went too long without buying food. And every time it was nerve-wracking, sneaking out while Bro wasn’t home and doing everything as fast as possible to make it home before he did. You’d never gotten to enjoy it, but now—

Now you yank out a cart in the entranceway, push it over to Dirk, and leap in the basket.

You face away from him, pulling your knees up and resting your arms on them as you stare straight ahead.

“Push me,” you say, doing your best to sound unaffected. You can’t bring yourself to look at his face. Your cheeks heat when he hesitates, and you’re about to leap out and claim ironic childishness when the cart starts squeaking forward and you jerk in surprise, nearly tilting over.

You right yourself as he says, “where to first?”

“Juice,” you tell him, because obviously. “I want so much juice in this cart that I can’t see my legs anymore. You’re going to have to unearth me from a pile of various cartons before we leave, and then we’ll both pretend I didn’t already chug two in the meanwhile.”

He snorts and you smile, giddily, only because he can’t see you. An old lady gives you two a weird look, but you couldn’t give less of a shit right now. You’re on cloud fuckin’ nine and the road is paved with apple juice.

“K,” he says, “whatever you want.”

Your heart clenches and you spend the ride to the juice aisle pretending that that statement didn’t make you want to cry.

**Dirk: Holy shit.**

This dude loves apple juice as much as you love orange soda. It’s hilarious as it is adorable. You don’t actually make good on that ridiculous statement earlier to cover his legs in apple juice cartons, but only because he wants to save room for Hot Pockets and Bagel Bites.

He points out brands to you and you hand them to him to throw in the baskets. He refuses to get out of the cart to get anything himself and it’s stupid cute. You don’t tell him that, though, because then he would stop doing it probably. So you just continue to grab him every brand of apple juice known to man.

You find the motherlode of orange soda at the end of the aisle and almost cream your pants at the sight of _so much of it_ in perfect condition and in one place. It’s like, your goddamn birthday in this bitch. Dave makes fun of you while you stack four things of orange soda at the bottom of the cart. It’s a tight fit, but you make it work.

AR then informs you that you do, in fact, have to carry all of this shit back to the apartment. It takes a lot of willpower, but you manage to put two back on the shelf. It’s not like you can’t just come back another time to get more, and isn’t _that_ a wild concept.

You wheel Dave and the acquired hydration receptacles over to the frozen food aisle, where Dave proceeds to ask you to throw every variety of Hot Pockets and Bagel Bite ever conceived. He hugs them to his chest like a little baby dragon over his hoard of juice and microwaveable pizza-like sustenance. After you take a picture of that with your glasses, AR tells you that you should probably consider teaching Dave what a balanced diet is. You ask why, since you’ve never been the paragon of diet wellness. He pastes you an article on the many detriments a poor diet can lead to. You sigh and head to the produce.

This is when it _really_ devolves. At first, the two of you seriously consider what you might or might not like, based on what you’ve had before. Then Dave makes you get kiwi because “shit’s weird as fuck, like holding a small, fuzzy testicle” which leads to you grabbing some peaches because they look like asses and now you’re both just throwing shit in the cart with wild abandon and the shittiest excuses.

You get cereal and milk, Dave gets Kix and you get Frosted Mini Wheats. You get bread, cheese, and various meats for sandwiches. AR sends you the recipe for a pasta dish and you get that shit, too. You and Dave wind up having to put some juice and one thing of orange soda back just so you can grab more shit. You get eggs and baby spinach and mushrooms and, finally, trash bags and rubber gloves and cleaning products. Dave laughs and calls you a housewife. You leave him in the cart for revenge while you go grab some paper towels. He forlornly calls after you but he can’t actually move under all the shit you’ve packed in. Also, he’s holding a lemon meringue pie that you both wanted to try, so he’s doubly trapped.

You get your shit and then stumble across an aisle of discounted items for a holiday you only know relates to bunnies and eggs. The chocolate bunnies are ridiculously cheap, as are some plastic headbands with bunny ears on them. You put a white pair on, then grab a black pair for Dave. You round the corner to Dave rapping about being abandoned in a Wal-Mart while a bunch of other patrons stare at him like he’s crazy. When he catches sight of you, he laughs so hard that he almost upends the pie.

He puts on his own pair without fuss, still red and snorting with laughter. You take another picture and dump the rest of your goods unceremoniously into the cart.

“So what now?” Dave asks, drumming a beat out happily on the pie box. It’s the most upbeat and relaxed you’ve seen him, and it pulls at your normally nonexistent heartstrings like a drunken guitarist. “We gonna hit up the toy aisles next?”

Your eyes sweep over the already significant haul, calculating.

Your calculations are a tie between ‘fuck it’ and ‘be responsible, you already have enough’. You sigh. Being an adult is hard.

“Next time,” you promise. “We have enough shit as is. It’s already gonna be a bitch wheeling this whole mess back to the apartment.”

Dave’s eyebrows shoot up. “As hilarious as stealing a cart would be, I’m gonna have to veto that idea on the entirely founded grounds of not wanting you to get your ass arrested. What is with you and bringing up casually illegal courses of action, by the way? Are you actually an S-rank mobster where you’re from? Oh shit, that would make the whole housewife shtick so much more funny.”

You ignore most of that ramble. “How do we get all this shit transported then?”

Dave looks at you, exasperated, which soon morphs into genuine awe. This is already, like, the fifth time that exact set of expressions crossed Dave’s face, and every time it was because you failed to grasp a basic aspect of life in this time period. Ugh. You hate being ignorant. As soon as the house is clean you’re reading up on every facet of 21st century daily living that you can get your hands on, no matter how obscure and useless.

“Dude,” he says softly, “where did you _live_ before this? Was it some third world country or something?”

“Or something,” you concede, smirking lightly. You wonder if you’ll ever have to explain the whole ‘I’m actually from centuries in the future’ thing before you’re booted back out of this reality.

There’s a brief silence while Dave digests this. You start wheeling towards the front doors again.

“Well here they bag your stuff for you to make it easier to carry,” he explains. Which… makes sense considering all the plastic-bag-toters you passed on the way in here.

“Ah. Nice. Where do we get the bags?”

“When we pay.”

You are very glad he’s not facing you, because you’re not sure what your face does at the realization that you forgot you needed to pay to begin with. You were 100% going to walk straight out the doors before Dave said that.

Small miracles. You don’t actually want to get arrested, even if not being able to carry around your sword with you makes you feel as exposed as a 50s pin-up girl.

“Cool. And… where do we do that, exactly?”

Dave throws an incredulous glance at you over his shoulder, but then faces front like it never even happened.

“Left of the front doors. Just stand behind one of the other hundred retail teet-sucklers in line.” Dave gets a scandalous look from a passing father at that statement and you chuckle.

It’s when you finally get to the front of the line and start unloading all your scored goods that Dave seems to realize something.

**Dave: Realize something.**

Flawless point-of-view change, yes, I know.

“Dude, how are we going to pay for this?” you ask, pausing with digging out the apple juice under your ass (you have no idea how it got there). You look up at Dirk, standing at the front of the cart, to find him continuing to unconcernedly unload the basket.

“AR hacked into the other guy’s accounts.” He states it so casually, and you almost giggle at his consistent flagrant disregard of the law, but then you realize you’re in public and you cast a glance at the cashier to make sure he didn’t hear. Thankfully, he’s making small talk with the dude in front of you. Dirk continues, blasé, “how do you think we paid for the pizza?”

“I guess I just… didn’t think about it,” you say, wincing internally at how immature you sound. You can’t believe you got so caught up that you forgot money was a thing that exists. You can’t bring yourself to feel bad about Dirk’s source for it, though.

“Neither did I, AR just sort of took it upon himself to take care of it.”

“Oh,” you say, still kind of new to the idea of AI but growing more and more psyched to finally talk to ‘AR’ the more you learn about him. “That’s sweet as hell. Thank him for me.”

Dirk smirks. “He can hear you,” he pauses as you blink with that information, “and he says ‘thanks’.” Before you can respond, his face screws up in a grimace and he pauses with the case of orange soda hoisted in his arms. “He wants me to specify that his exact words were, and I quote, ‘anything for my human meat bro.’”

Your eyes widen. The guy in front of you has just finished and the cashier begins scanning items, not bothering to try and interrupt your conversation. “Dude, does he consider me his bro?”

Dirk takes the apple juice from your slackened grip and places it on the belt. You start mechanically passing him the other items as he says, “first of all, you should know that he beats the ‘I’m an android bluh’ horse like its leg is broken and he has no other means of disposal than an incredibly inefficient blunt force weapon.” He places the last item on the belt and sighs, turning to you and crossing his arms. “Second, it’s impossible to tell the difference between when he’s being genuine and when he’s being a snarky asshole. Which makes sense, considering he’s a literal copy of my own brain, but it’s… _incredibly_ fucking annoying to be on the receiving end of it.”

You can’t help it, you laugh in his face. The corners of his mouth turn down in a pathetic-looking pout and it makes you laugh harder. “At least you know how we mere peasants feel when faced with your unflappable Strider cool.”

Dirk continues to frown at you. “You’re a Strider, too, y’know.”

You wave a hand. “Yeah, but you’re like, _god tier._ ”

Pink, a half-filled heart, blood on your hands, warmth against your cheek, fear, nausea, humid green air—

…poofy asshole pants?

You take in a gulp of air and it burns in your lungs, like you’d been holding it for a while. A voice swims in your ears like you’re underwater, and you blink away green-tinted buildings to the face of Dirk. His brows are drawn low, fingers gripping tightly on the edge of the cart as he cranes as close to you as possible from where you’ve slumped. He looks entirely too serious, but it’s hard to take him seriously when he’s got those ridiculous bunny ears still propped in his anime hair. His mouth is moving, and your ears stop ringing long enough for you to make it out.

“…er me, Dave. Can you hear me? Are you okay?”

“Should I call someone?” comes a voice you don’t recognize and you blink as the other ambience registers. The sound of squeaky wheels in linoleum, the crunch of hundreds of plastic bags, idle chatter, electronic beeps of cashiers scanning items. You’re in a grocery store.

“Dave,” Dirk repeats, voice tight and you instantly feel guilty for ignoring him.

“I’m good,” it feels like someone shoved a ball of cotton in your mouth, and you swallow painfully. He frowns, reaching over to grab a carton of apple juice from the end tray. He opens it for you and hands it over, you down it like a dying man. When you’re done, you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand and let the juice fall upright between your sprawled legs. Dirk is still staring at you, mouth pressed into a thin line. The cashier has a hand on a phone, looking uncertain. “I’m fine, I swear, just another…”

“…Migraine,” he finishes for you, seeming annoyed. Fuck. You ruined the afternoon with your weirdly emerald-tinted war flashbacks. Your stomach rolls with nausea and you curl into yourself a little. Dirk’s forehead gets even pinchier.

“Do you want to take some time to go grab some aspirin or something?” asks the cashier, hand still hovering above the phone. “Or I can call someone. He doesn’t look too good.”

“Yeah, I’ll—” Dirk hesitates, then continues, “could you call someone to pick up the aspirin? And some anti-nausea medication would be nice.”

“Of course,” the cashier says, already picking up the phone. “Any brand preferences?”

Dirk opens his mouth. Closes it. Turns back to you.

“Are you allergic to anything?”

“Open gestures of affection,” you tell him, voice rough, “better grab an Epi-Pen soon, man, I’m liable to break out in hives soon.”

You can’t see them, but you are almost entirely sure Dirk just rolled his eyes.

“Just ibuprofen and cyclizine, then,” he says, turning back to the cashier. The cashier nods and begins talking into the phone.

He drapes himself over the side of the cart, arms resting on the right side next to your head and says softly, “it’s not a migraine, is it?”

Your mouth twists unhappily. At least your stomach is settling a little, but you’re afraid any sort of movement is going to fuck that up. “Not at all.”

“Any idea what it might be?” his voice is low, soothing, and it makes you feel… safe. Or some other gross equivalent. Ugh. You hate this new Bro. He’s going to give you ulcers with all this _caring_ bullshit.

“None at all,” you say, entirely uninterested in divulging what the fuck is going on when you’re not even sure yourself. Besides, it’ll just make you look even crazier.

Dirk opens his mouth, but the cashier cuts him off. “Someone is grabbing those for you now. I’ll ring up the rest of your purchase in the meantime.”

Dirk tilts his head slightly, probably because he forgot about the ridiculous bunny ears. There’s an agonizingly awkward moment where the cashier gestures jerkily at his own head before Dirk gets the picture. He pulls off his own headband, then reaches down and plucks off yours as well. He hands them over and you push yourself more upright so that your head isn’t at a painful angle anymore. It makes your guts twist, but at least bile doesn’t rise in your throat.

Dirk starts rifling through the bags waiting in the end tray. You watch curiously. He unearths the bread. You tilt your own head in question when he opens it and pulls out the slice at the end of the loaf, proving that he is truly chaotic evil.

Then he holds it out to you.

“Um?” you say, staring at the offending bread like it’s a live bomb.

“It’s supposed to help with nausea,” Dirk responds. He shakes it in your face and you watch a few crumbs fall. You’ve never heard of that in your _life._

“Sounds like bullshit,” you say. Your stomach rolls again and you sway, slamming your eyes shut against it except – _blood on your hands, sword hilt cutting into your sweaty palms_ – you open them again and snatch the bread.

You refuse to look at the expression on Dirk’s face.

Another worker drops by a few minutes later with the medicine. The cashier scans it, bags it, and there’s a few minutes of confusion on how to pay before Dirk pulls off his shades and… has the cashier scan them? At least the cashier looks as baffled as you feel. You don’t look at Dirk until he slides his shades back into place.

His eyes are the exact same color as Bro’s.

Your heart doesn’t calm down until you’re being wheeled out of the store, covered in grocery bags and now freshly medicated with a healthy dose of apple juice to wash it down. You have no clue how the fuck you’re going to lug all these bags back to the apartment without your arms falling off, but Dirk doesn’t look too worried about it.

…Then again, this is the same dude that thought it was okay to straight up jack one of the carts, so maybe you should ask.

“How’re we gonna get all this shit back?” you ask, tilting your head back. Dirk has stopped at the curb, and now appears to be scanning the parking lot. “I mean, I’m a kickass pack mule, but that doesn’t mean I want to be hauling groceries for fifteen minutes through eighty degree heat.”

“AR told me he called us an ‘uber’, which I’m going to assume is some sort of taxi since AR is only forthcoming with information when it suits him.”

You smile up at him upside-down and he finally looks down at you. “Dude, you and AR could be a spy duo, with you doing all the leg work and him giving you all the instructions and making sure things run smoothly and shit.”

Dirk leans more heavily on the cart and smirks. “That’s pretty much how it works already sans, y’know, the spy part.”

You open your mouth to launch into an undoubtedly convincing argument on why it would be a viable (not to mention badass) career choice for him to become the next James Bond, but a car pulling up in front of you cuts you off.

“Guess that’s our ride,” Dirk says, rounding the cart to speak to the driver.

**Be the driver.**

For the first time ever, you are not a Strider! Congratulations! Too bad it’s an irrelevant side character with no real definable characteristics that will never show up again. Kind of disappointing, really.

Because your personality is not fleshed out in the slightest, you don’t respond to any of that.

Instead you help the two young boys haul their groceries into your trunk. You assume they’re brothers, considering the resemblance, and you’re pretty sure the taller one that spoke to you with terse statements is the older of the two. For some reason, they’re both wearing bunny ear headbands.

The younger one isn’t very helpful, but that’s to be expected since he’s buried under all the groceries. The older does most of the heavy lifting, and is extremely quick and efficient. You appreciate it, because there’s only so much time you can spend helping two teens out with their grocery shopping. You have a nondescript wife and child to feed, after all!

Soon enough you’re all packed in the car and ready to go. They both sit in the back where they look vaguely uncomfortable for a minute before the younger one bursts into a rant about spies and robots and some kid named John? You tune out as much as the older brother does, though occasionally you’ll see him hum or nod or smirk with a short reply to something his younger counterpart said. It’s an amusing dynamic, at least, and you’re not bored for the eight-minute car ride.

You pull up the car astride an apartment complex at the older brother’s instruction and step out to help them unload faster since it’s not like you can leave until your car’s emptied. The younger one helps this time, at least, so it goes pretty fast. While the shorter one digs around in the trunk to drag their last bit of groceries out – two packs of orange soda – the older one accomplishes a great feat of speed and dexterity by sticking nearly all of the bags on both of his arms, making him look like some sort of strange, fucked up bird with its wings spread.

“I still have no idea how we’re going to—” the younger one is saying, only to cut off and nearly drop the soda when he turns around and sees his brother. “What the _fuck._ ”

“I saw a woman in the parking lot doing it,” the older one explains like it’s no big deal. He doesn’t even look like he’s struggling. You frown, jealous, and make a mental note to hit the gym later. “It seemed like the most efficient way to transport them.”

The younger brother just stares incredulously for a few seconds. Then he says, “so who’s the real robot again? You or AR.”

“Ha ha,” the older one says tonelessly. He turns on his heel and starts heading into the building without another word.

The younger one takes a second to be surprised before he’s tripping after him. “Wait! Shouldn’t I get some of those, dude? Are you really only making me carry _one thing_ , what the Hell?!”

You watch them disappear into the building.

Neither of them thanked you.

After a few seconds, you shrug and head back to the driver’s seat. It’s not like it matters anyway. This is the last time you’re going to show up in this story, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> both striders have their emotional support lalondes god bless
> 
> fun fact: i listen to homestuck music while i format these chapters (and while i write sometimes) and carne vale came on and even after years it fills me with pain and rage so if there are any mistakes i gladly blame that
> 
> also this chapter is largely unedited (even moreso than previous ones) due to my not proofreading it so i'm sorry if it's especially rough


	6. Cupcake Girl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi! this is awkward!
> 
> i'm sure many of you have forgotten about this fic by now, and i'm sorry for the prolonged hiatus. i won't lie, i haven't visited this fic for awhile now. real life has gotten in the way and i regularly fall in and out of this fandom. 
> 
> BUT. i adore this fic and am going to do my best to continue it. it is also in no small part due to the lovely comments i've received that i even have the courage to post after so long. thank you all so much, even if you never read this!

**Back to Striderian domestic bliss.**

You straighten from where you’ve been stuffing a truly obscene number of Hot Pockets into the freezer. You and Dirk had had to empty the damn thing of puppets, weapons, and miscellaneous bullshit first, and now for the first time it’s serving its actual purpose. You’re so happy for the fridge that you want to cry a little.

It takes a few extra shoves to get the thing closed. That should mark the last of the groceries that needed unpacking and Dirk is already talking about a return trip for glasses and a dining set. You feel like you’re in an alternate reality.

You’re also, admittedly, stoked to go back to the grocery store and buy even more bullshit.

Not today, though, since you’ve already embarrassed yourself enough.

You turn to find Dirk at the table, softly thumbing one of the peaches he’d bought and giving it an undue amount of attention and concentration, considering it’s a fruit.

“Hey,” you say, stepping up next to him and watching him drag his thumb down the fruit’s crease. “Want me to google how to peel it or something? Or did you buy it just to fondle?”

“Just to fondle,” he assures. You can’t tell whether it’s a joke or not. “I’m taking a video for my friend.”

“A video?” you ask, frowning as you look between Dirk and the fruit that he has now brought up to eye-level. “What kind of—”

You watch, transfixed and slightly horrified, as Dirk sets his thumbnail halfway down the peach’s crest and sinks it in with a smooth, slow movement. Juices spill out around his thumb. It’s… weirdly pornographic.

You snap your jaw shut at the same time that he decides, with a bit of a self-satisfied smirk, that he’s done molesting the innocent fruit.

“Dude what the _fuck_ ,” you say, unable to mask your complete and total state of Fucking Flabbergasted. You imagine sending a video like that to _any_ of your friends and internally cringe so hard you think you pull an imaginary muscle. “What kind of friends do you _have_?”

“The kind that are fun to fuck with,” he responds, wiping the juice on his thumb off on a napkin leftover from the pizza. “Or at least one of them. He really makes it too goddamn easy to fuck with him.”

_He?_ He’s sending this video to a _dude?_ Somehow that makes it even lewder.

“That’s pretty fuckin’ gay,” you feel the need to inform him, just so he’s aware.

“Yeah, that’s kinda the point,” he says, staring off into space and going blank in the way he does when he’s preoccupied with his shades.

“Oh,” you say. Of course it’s that. You’d probably send a video like that to fuck with John, too. You think. Maybe. “I have that same kinda relationship with my best bro.”

He looks back at you then, looking surprised. Or the Strider equivalent of surprise, which is basically just slightly raised eyebrows and a lightly parted mouth. To a Strider, this pretty much indicates maximum fucking shook.

“Really?” he asks.

“Yeah, of course,” you nod. “Gay chicken is like, standard best bro procedure. If you don’t dangle that proverbial cock in your best bro’s face at least once per conversation, are you really even best bros?” Wait. Pause. Rewind. What the fuck did you just say? Your face screws up in pain as you replay that last sentence in your head. “Okay, that sounded a lot gayer than I meant it to.”

Dirk seems at a loss for words for a few seconds which makes everything you just said that much worse. He puts the peach down and crosses his arms, tilting his head and regarding you silently. You do your best not to squirm. You can’t stop yourself from tensing and itching for a sword in your hands. He looks too much like Bro again, even with the dumb bunny ears. Okay, well, now that you’ve noticed them you can’t stop noticing them. At least it makes you relax enough that you don’t go lunging for the nearest sharp object when he opens his mouth.

“I think my relationship with Jake is more along the lines of teasing flirting than a ‘no homo’ waltz,” he says and _what._ Dirk’s mouth takes on a self-deprecating sort of tilt. “Well, _I_ flirt. He just sort of brushes it off like it’s a particularly pesky speck of dust.”

The name ‘Jake’ pings something in your memory, but there are more pressing things to address here. Such as: “Flirt with him? …Like, ironically?”

He frowns. Opens his mouth. Closes it. His lips purse and he straightens, squaring his shoulders and looking downright defensive.

“…You _did_ hear me when I told that girl I’m gay, right?” he asks, hesitant, and oh fuck. What? _What?_

“You—you were _serious?!_ ” you can’t help spluttering, and then you feel bad when his frown gets that much deeper.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” his voice is even, but unlike your Bro, he’s pretty easy to read.

You’ve upset him.

But you can’t _help_ it.

It’s just… you’re not _homophobic_ , it’s just you never expected… he’s so manly! Everything you know about gay people is like… so much different. They’re supposed to be flamboyant and girly and have high-pitched voices. Dirk is as far from those things as any one human being could get, besides you.

You think about dreams you’ve had starring one buck-toothed idiot, dreams that woke you up sweaty and gasping and ashamed, dreams that you repressed so hard in so many levels of denial that you’re pissed they’re even coming to mind now.

You swallow around a sudden lump in your throat, feeling another hot wash of shame and embarrassment.

“I just—I—You—” you can’t process this.

“…Does it… bother you?” he looks so uncomfortable and it makes you feel sick to your stomach all over again. God, you fucking suck. Your brother is coming out to you and you’re reacting like a fucking asshole. What is _wrong with you?_

“No, no, of course not! I’m just… really fuckin’ surprised, is all.” Understatement. He at least straightens a little from where he was hunching defensively. You wish fervently to be anywhere else right now.

“Alright, let’s pretend I believe that,” he says and of course he can see through your lie. Fuck. You need to abscond before you say more stupid shit. He’s still frowning. “Why does it ‘surprise’ you so much?”

“Uh,” you chance a glance toward the door over Dirk’s shoulder. This is the exact opposite of any conversation you’ve ever wanted to have, but when you look back Dirk’s face is shutting down like you gave him an answer and ugh. You don’t want him to think you hate him over something that shouldn’t even _matter._ Doesn’t. It’s hurting you to think about it too hard, because something tells you that this isn’t even the first time you’ve _had_ this awkward as fuck exchange even though it is and fuck the circuitous thoughts are back. “It’s just that you don’t… fit the bill.”

Now he just looks confused. Wow. If you dig this grave any deeper you’re gonna strike fucking oil soon.

“Do _all_ homosexuals act like one another, in your experience?” he asks, sardonic, and then a horrible look passes over his face. One of _understanding_ , which then shifts to one of _someone who does not like what they just understood._ It’s like his whole face deflates. “Ah. Homophobia is definitely a thing I forgot about.”

“What? No! I’m not homophobic!” Your hands immediately spring up in your own defense and you have no idea why. This sucks. Holy shit. Now he just looks downright _sad._ “Believe me, I don’t _care_ that you are,” and you’re surprised to find how much you mean it. Suddenly, you have your own revelation – _who gives a shit?_ He’s still the same guy, right? It’s not like being gay changed anything about who he is as a person besides what he sticks his dick in and first of all, gross, and second of all, it’s more complicated than that but _still._ He’s still Dirk. Gay people are still people and not confined to that shitty stereotype ascribed to them. “It’s really fine, man. I’m not going to cut all ties with you just because you like to mack on dudes. It’s just… society shoves all these norms down your throat and any deviation from that is like the fucking apocalypse for some reason? As if someone liking their own sex is like, the harbinger of doomsday. It’s kind of bullshit.”

You have no idea why you’ve never thought about any of this before (even though it feels like you have?), but it feels like a weight off your shoulders. Heteronormativity and hypermasculinity is _bullshit –_ and you didn’t even know you knew those terms. Dirk, at least, seemed to relax at the same time that you did during that rant. If anything, he looks amused now.

“That was a mighty big change of opinion from your initial reaction,” he comments, back to his casual Texan drone, which is still oddly way less pronounced than yours and Bro’s, but it at least helps you differentiate between the two easier. It also makes you feel even better about your epiphany. Hurting people you lo- that you consider friends has always been the absolute _worst._ You’re glad you could sort through this without it becoming a huge deal between you two. You’d honestly hate yourself if you made Dirk hate you just because you were being a bigoted dick.

“Yeah, apparently it just took someone close to me telling me they’re gay for me to pull my head out of my own ass,” you say with a smirk, feeling light, like an unknown weight had been lifted.

The feeling of deja vu has only worsened, though, and you feel like if this conversation goes on any longer you’re going to have another not-flashback. Or worse, another fucking mental break. Fuck knows you’d rather gnaw off your own leg than have Dirk bear witness to _that._

Dirk has gone back to chatting on his glasses, which is fine by you. You’re not sure if it’s possible to slink away with any sort of dignity while he’s distracted, but you’ll damn well try.

…

Actually, you’re curious about something. You’re not sure how to broach the subject, so you spend a little time fretting over how to ask, before you just tactfully blurt:

“So you dating this Jake guy or what?”

Smooth as always.

This is why you abhor social situations which don’t have a technological buffer.

Luckily, Dirk doesn’t seem too offended, but that didn’t mean he was happy about the question. In fact, if you didn’t know any better, you would say that he was _grimacing._ Before you can take it back, however, with a ‘jk dude lmao’ and a swift abscond, Dirk sighs.

“Can we go back to you being horrified, please? I miss that.”

Something ignites in you then, something that you haven’t felt for a _long_ time.

The urge to be the annoying younger brother.

As soon as it strikes you, it's impossible to resist. Being an asshole is practically your default, after all.

“Do you _love_ him?” you goad.

You see the moment you fucked up, because Dirk drops his hand, wipes his face of emotion save for a smirk, and stares you dead-on (through the shades, obviously, but still intimidating).

You gulp.

“Oh yeah, man,” he says, voice blank like his face save for the merciless curl to his lip. You brace for impact. “I want his _babies._ But not as much as I want his dick in my—”

“OKAY I GET IT I’M SORRY,” you almost contemplate shoving your hands over your ears to stop the words from happening to them but you decide against it at the last minute. If only because Dirk _does_ stop, looking smug as fuck. You huff at him. “You win. Now let’s never bring up this conversation again.”

“Agreed,” he says easily. He turns back to the kitchen island, where you lined up all the cleaning supplies. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have an apartment to detoxify.”

“Yeah, yeah, do your housewife shit,” you say, stuffing your hands in your pockets and making a mental note to stuff the most ironic apron you can into the cart next time you go shopping. You have to bite down on your cheek to keep from smiling. “I’ll be in my room, agonizing over every feelings jam we’ve had today.”

Dirk pulls on his hot pink cleaning gloves and glances at you, sun glinting off his shades. “Feelings? What are those? My artificial mind cannot comprehend.”

“You’re hilarious,” you deadpan, scooping up the mound of food you left out to stuff in your closet as you head past him.

“Humor is also a foreign concept,” he says to your back. You’d flip him off if your arms weren’t full of Doritos, Poptart boxes, and AJ. “Please explain to me the human emotion called ‘humor’, Dave.”

A twinge shoots up your spine, making you stumble while your eyes fill with a wall of grey text and your body feels pleasantly warm. The phantom image and feeling are gone in a blink and you only pause for a half-second more before continuing to exit the room.

This is your new norm, it seems. At least it isn’t accompanied with pain and nausea this time.

“Have fun trying to scrub away several decades worth of grime from every area in this shithole,” you call back.

He doesn’t respond. It doesn’t bother you, your mind already shifting to telling your friends about your shopping spree.

…And you _100%_ need to take an ironic selfie with these bunny ears on. Maybe you’ll convince Dirk to pose for one, too. _Maximum bro bondage._

…

Let’s pretend that thought never happened.

**Be the maid.**

You are now JANE CROCKER.

Wait no, the author meant Dirk! You’re Dirk, dammit. He’s the maid right now. No one _knows_ Jane is the maid, not even Jane herself! But now, even though the author was just making a stupid joke, she kind of wants you to be Jane a little bit??? Because Jane is underrated as fuck and deserves so much better.

Okay, fine. Dammit. You’re Jane now. Fuck it, I guess.

Your not-dad has just made vanilla milkshakes for you and your… your John. You got back from the trip around town about half an hour ago and you have a _lot_ to think about. After your conversation with Dirk earlier, you found yourself insatiably curious about the goings-on currently… going on. There’s a lot to this puzzle, and now that you’ve had time to process its relative size, you’re ready to go about constructing the big picture.

You just need to color in some pieces first. You’re not a certified junior detective for nothing, gosh darnit!

You’ve gathered fragments of intel here and there from speaking with your friends, but there are large chunks of blank space that must be filled.

Currently, you’re in your father’s study. He’s allowing you to use his laptop (which looks exactly like your old one) while he goes about his dadly duties, whatever that entails. John retreated into his room with his milkshake as soon as it was made, so you’re alone in the quiet of the first floor. There’s a plain notepad belonging to your dad to the right of the computer, ready and raring to go for your studious notes! You’ve always preferred the written word to the typed when it comes to mysteries, it’s easier to sort out your thoughts this way.

You tap the black pen against your lips as you frown down at the blank sheet, thinking.

The first thing to do is to come up with a snappy case name, no detective work is complete without it!

It takes you a few minutes and several scrapped ideas, but you come up with something suitable.

** The Naked Lass on the Mantel **

You’re never showing this to another living soul.

**Fact: Four friends were transported back in time, replacing people related to their own relatives.**

…

You frown.

That isn’t actually a fact, is it? Not an immutable one, at least. Dirk may have posited it, but time travel is a conclusion that _he_ drew. You should draw your own, based on concise facts attached to no previous hypothesis, so that you don’t conflate the results with bias.

You cross out what you wrote.

**Fact: Four friends woke up on the same day in places similar to their own homes, but with different residents and features.**

**Fact: All four of them replaced someone else who had been living (or died) in the place in question.**

**Fact: All four of them were mistaken as a younger version of the person replaced.**

Hmm. You tap your pen briefly against the notepad. You’re going to have to fact-check with your friends after this, and correct accordingly. Some of these you haven’t confirmed firsthand, and you’d rather leave nothing to poke a hole in your flawless knitting together of cold-hard fact!

**Fact: All four of them recognized the other residents as younger versions of their own family members (with the exception of my father).**

There’s a familiar pang of pain, thinking about the father that no longer recognizes you, but you push it down. There’s no room for emotion in an investigation of the truth!

**Fact: Jane shares a name with the elderly woman she replaced.**

**Fact: The younger versions all appear to know each other.**

**Fact: John and Jane share a birthday, both turning 16.**

**Fact: John hates cake, the blasphemous cur.**

You feel this is important to jot down. You’re still bitter about it.

You also make a mental note to ask the rest of your friends if they share any birthdays – it’s unlikely, but you’ve got to cover your bases!

**Fact: The year is**

You stop, and then feel unutterably silly. You hadn’t thought to _check_ the year until now. Oh well, better late than never. You shake the wireless mouse to wake up the laptop from idle and click on the bottom right icon to pull up the date.

Your eyes widen.

Well.

There goes Dirk’s theory of time travel.

…Buggering hell.

**Fact: The year is 2012, date of arrival being 4/13/12.**

**Fact: The year was 2012 the last time Jane checked the calendar before she woke up naked on the mantel.**

**Fact: Shunannaquins.**

You sigh and put the pen down, burying your head in your hands and pressing your glasses uncomfortably into the bridge of your nose. This is falling more and more out of your realm of experience, science fiction has always been more the Strilondes bread and butter.

Still, you mustn’t give up so easily! All of the work shouldn’t fall to Dirk’s shoulders just because he feels it’s his responsibility, for some silly laughable reason. He’ll work himself into the ground until he figures this out, and you rather like one of your best friends being, you know, out of the ground and perfectly alright!

You drag your hands down to your cheeks, freeing your eyesight so you can glare down at the notepad.

Not even the full force of your pout changes its statements of irrefutable fact.

You heave a sigh and pull up Pesterchum, resigning yourself to the inevitability of hours of research. Mystery-solving waits for no woman, after all!

And you know just who to start with.

**Jane: Pester Jake.**

**\-- gutsyGumshoe [GG] began pestering golgothasTerror [GT] at 14:32 --**

**GG: Watson!**

**GG: The game is afoot!**

**GT: *Gasps and lowers the revolvers id aimed at the door due to that abrupt entrance.* By jove holmes! Learn to knock!**

**GG: I apologize, Watson, but there isn’t much time.**

**GG: This investigation requires my immediate, unerring attention. The life of a friend is at stake and I cannot tarry.**

**GT: I dare say how alarming! Whose life?**

**GG: Our near and dear friend… Dirk’s!**

**GT: Oh no!**

**GT: Is he alright??**

**GG: For now! But if I delay in this task, I fear he will not rest until the mystery is solved, with or without help.**

**GG: In fact, I’m sure he hasn’t slept yet because he is as predictable as the sunrise and as idiotically self-sacrificing as any tragic hero of legend.**

**GG: Except instead of being legendary, it’s just worrisome and annoying and makes his friends want to beat him to sleep with soft blankets and a healthy dose of Ambien.**

**GT: Blasted fool.**

**GT: Being a martyr again is he?**

**GT: Should i attempt to speak with his royal idiocy?**

**GG: You know as well as I do that nothing will derail the Strider train to Ignoring-All-Basic-Needs Town until he’s puzzled out what’s going on here.**

**GT: Yes i know… bloody irritating codger.**

**GT: If we are ever to meet ill beat some sense into that infuriatingly large brain of his!!**

**GG: Yes, of course. As will I.**

**GG: But for now, all you can do for him is answer my questions posthaste!**

**GT: Then i will do so without compunction!**

**GT: Ask away old girl.**

**GG: First off, does your teen grandmother know a John, a Dave, and a Rose?**

**GT: Indubitably.**

**GG: …You didn’t have to ask?**

**GT: Oh! No i already did so earlier as luck would have it.**

**GT: Roxy asked me that question a few hours back.**

**GT: I found it odd but now i can see its critical to cracking this confounding case!**

**GG: Hm…**

**GG: I guess Roxy has the same idea as I do, trying to lessen the burden our mutual buffoon of a friend takes on his shoulders.**

**GT: Aw shucks…**

**GG: What is it?**

**GT: I dont know jane…**

**GT: It just seems as if im the only one who wasnt thinking of our resident genius and his unflappable bouts of self-destruction due to a silly sense of duty for solving all of our problems.**

**GT: I was too busy being absorbed in my own adventure.**

**GT: And now i feel as though ive neglected a friend in need…**

**GG: Oh please, Jake, give yourself some credit!**

**GG: This is like the plot to one of your movies, new and exciting and chock full of adventure and intrigue! It’s no wonder you’re so preoccupied.**

**GG: I’m surprised you’re even answering us at all, frankly!**

**GT: Still! Dirk is as dear a friend to me as he is to you.**

**GT: Perhaps even dearer. Seeing as were the best of bros.**

**GT: And yet ive been so wrapped up in my own cornball shenanigans that i didnt even think to message him about his wellbeing!**

**GT: Well… That and our last conversation was a bit… erm…**

**GT: Hells of embarrassing.**

**GG: Oh?**

**GT: Nope! Not a word jane!**

**GG: :B**

**GG: That’s fine.**

**GG: I’ll just ask AR later.**

**GT: Noooooo!**

**GG: Anyway, you should message Dirk after this then and order him to shelve his theory-crafting and rest for a while. Who knows? Maybe he’ll actually listen to you.**

**GG: Now! Enough with your pity party, Jake English, we’ve a mystery to solve!**

**GT: Right-o! Apologies for my selfish derailment of your interrogation. Please continue.**

**GG: Alright, do you know whether you share a name with the man you replaced?**

**GT: I do indeed.**

**GG: Wonderful. Now, can you find out whether you share a birthday with your teen grandmother?**

**GT: Certainly! Be back in a jiffy.**

**GT: ...**

**GT: Hm…**

**GG: Hm…?**

**GT: Ill be honest jane. When you asked that question i thought it was a load of cockamamie codswallop but by gum you were right on the money!**

**GT: Im not sure how its relevant but yes. We share our date of birth.**

Well, shoot.

Once is a coincidence, but twice is a pattern. At least this ridiculously specific detail will narrow down the scope of your research later when compiling the evidence.

**GG: Phooey.**

**GG: I thought that detail was as ridiculously irrelevant as you implied, but now I have to give it some serious consideration as having actual weight in this investigation.**

**GG: Despite the fact that I have no idea why it would ever be important.**

**GT: Well that makes two of us!**

**GG: Okay, next, how old is she?**

**GT: Standby.**

**GT: Blimey! Were the same age as well!**

**GT: This neverending fount of coincidental happenstance seems as unending as it does suspicious.**

**GG: Indeed.**

**GG: Last one: what year is it?**

**GT: Oh! Ive not even checked! Barmy of me to overlook such a detail when the issue of time travel was brought to my attention by none other than our favorite genius fool himself.**

**GT: But im sure its**

**GT: Its**

**GT: Its 2012?**

**GG: Yeah.**

**GT: Whaaaa?????**

**GG: That pretty much sums up how I feel about it!**

**GT: I suppose this isnt too much of a rug-puller though.**

**GG: What do you mean?**

**GT: Well i was already aware that the time travel theory was incorrect just from stepping outside the house!**

**GG: Huh?**

**GT: Even in my grandmothers time there were monsters on this island.**

**GT: But this jades version of the island is gloriously monster-free!**

**GT: I thought it was not unlike that timeless scifi film ‘journey to the far side of the sun’.**

**GT: A parallel universe of sorts!**

Holy shit. Your eyes are wide, your mouth agape, totally stunned as you witness for the first time in your life: Jake English having a stroke of absolute genius.

**GT: Granted its not exactly the same. I was unspeakably disappointed to find all the text in her books the right way round!**

**GT: So i didnt think the theory worth mentioning to anyone else.**

**GG: No no no, Jake, you’re a genius!**

**GT: …I am?**

**GG: YES!**

**GG: I hadn’t even thought of that, but a parallel universe makes perfect sense!**

**GG: That explains why our respective relatives’ lives are almost an exact mirror of our own!**

**GG: Jake, you darned lovable oaf, you’ve cracked it!**

**GG: I could kiss you right now!**

**GT: Oh! Well i… *Fans self and pulls on shirt collar.***

**GG: I’ve got to go confirm a few things with Roxy and Dirk before I finalize this theory, but I’ve got the feeling you’ve hit the nail on its unsuspecting head.**

**GG: I still have to speak with them though.**

**GG: Information is a detective’s greatest weapon, after all! :B**

**GT: Personally i believe a pair of smith & wesson model 29s are far more powerful but you would know more than i! **

**GT: Im pleased as punch that i could be of such assistance jane!**

**GT: Dont hesitate to call upon me again should you need your faithful army doctor to help you iron out a few more facts!**

**GG: Of course. Now I have a case to solve, Watson, and it involves questioning a beautiful young blonde.**

**GT: Oh! Then i guess ill hold off on messaging dirk for a bit.**

**GG: I was talking about Roxy.**

**GT: OH! …Um.**

**GG: :B**

**GG: Go tell Dirk everything you just told me. That way when I get around to messaging him, he’ll have had time to decide on its validity and we can more easily discuss it.**

**GG: Before I beat his dumb derriere into a bed.**

**GT: …Must i?**

**GG: What, talk to Dirk?**

**GT: …Yes.**

**GG: It would be preferable, but I suppose you don’t have to…?**

**GG: Is this about the embarrassing conversation you mentioned earlier?**

**GT: It may have something to do with it…**

**GG: Oh, come off it, Jake. It couldn’t have been that bad.**

**GG: I’m sure you’re just making a mountain out of a molehill!**

**GG: You know how Dirk is. He’s got a silver tongue. It’s why we let him get away with so much, the brat. :B**

**GG: Did he fluster you again with his smooth talking?**

**GT: No no the fluster was entirely born of my own foolish bumbling.**

**GT: In fact he was making a lot less salacious comments than usual! It was all me putting my own blasted foot in it.**

**GT: And I was hoping to avoid him for a little while longer to give myself a chance to collect my thoughts.**

**GG: …Did you have a fight?**

**GT: Oh no! Nothing of the sort!**

**GT: Ive just… since i woke up here ive been having… thoughts… about dirk…**

**GT: And last night i had a very… ungentlemanly dream about him…**

…Is he saying what you think he’s saying?

…Is Jake Fucking English, the dunderhead you’ve had a raging crush on for years, telling you that he had a wet dream about one of your best friends?

…

You wait for the jealousy, the outrage, the hurt, the sting of betrayal, but—

You just feel…

Exasperated. Annoyed. And most of all—

…Well, that’s new.

You suppose you’ve been caught up in your own drama, as well, seeing as you missed the signs that you are no longer romantically attracted to Jake and seriously – what? How and when did this happen? Last time you checked, that fire was as stoked and all-consuming as ever, burning in the background of all your interactions with him, but now it’s just… embers. Smoldering, but spent.

Oops. It looks like you’ve been silent in ruminating teenage angst too long because Jake’s messaging you again.

**GT: Im terribly sorry for dumping all of that on you jane! Feel free to ignore it.**

**GT: I dont know what came over me! You have an important investigation underway to aid our mutual friend and here i am making it about me again.**

**GT: Just… pretend you didnt read any of that.**

**GT: In fact ive reread what i typed and id rather prefer it if you would do me the courtesy of forgetting it ever happened.**

You roll your eyes at his dramatics, about to type a response when an idea hits you like a runaway freight train.

A _sudden thought._

_Sudden thoughts._

Jake _suddenly_ is interested in Dirk. You’re _suddenly_ uninterested in Jake. Dirk _suddenly_ , according to Jake, is acting less flirtatious towards him than usual (not that you knew that was a thing before, but for some reason it doesn’t surprise you? And that just serves to further your suspicions.).

Once is a coincidence…

Is it possible that you all, in transporting to this parallel universe, adopted some of the aspects of your predecessors’ personality or inclinations? If this universe’s Jane didn’t like this universe’s Jake, did that transform your feelings for him into something entirely different? Did this universe’s Jake like Dirk?

…But you’d been operating off the assumption that in this mirrored reality, the four people you and your friends replaced hadn’t known each other, as the four ancestors from your own reality hadn’t.

And you were _dead._ That’s a thing that still kind of terrifies you to think about, really, so you gloss over it and head right into the whole ‘age disparity’ thing. Jake replaced a grandfather. Dirk replaced a presumably younger man. Was Jake’s alternate reality self a sugar daddy or something?

You physically shudder at the idea. Somehow, contemplating your death had been less painful than that train of thought.

Shucks. Jake’s freaking out even more now.

**GT: …Jane?**

**GT: Please say something.**

**GT: Im already bloody mortified enough without you adding to it with your stoic silence.**

**GG: I’m sorry, Jake. I didn’t mean to give you the cold shoulder there.**

**GG: I was just thinking.**

**GT: Oh! Of course!! Im once again distracting our local gutsy gumshoe from her investigation!**

**GT: Please pay me no more mind holmes. Go on with your clue collection and continue to ignore the last five minutes of this conversation! Ha ha!**

You tap your fingers lightly on the keys, restless and uncertain. You bite down on your lip as you weigh the pros and cons of telling Jake about your revelation.

On one hand, 99.9% of the time Jake is as helpful as a hammer thrown at a glass window. On the other hand, Jake’s knowledge of parallel realities far exceeds your own and his insight, for once, could prove to be helpful, as it had earlier.

On the third, invisible trickster’s hand, you’ll have to go about it without mentioning your own involvement.

Missing feelings or no, you still feel mortified at even the mere hint of Jake discovering you had romantic inclinations towards him.

It’s fine, though. You’re a hardened detective, after all. You’re a master negotiator, a calm deceiver, you’re well-versed in the many ways of diverting one Jake English’s attention away from important matters literally anyone else would pick up on, and you really only need one of those things for this conversation.

You crack your knuckles and get to work.

**GG: Jake, do you not think it odd that you’ve come to an alternate universe and both you and Dirk start to treat each other differently?**

**GT: Dammit jane.**

**GG: I’m not doing this to humiliate you.**

**GG: Just give it some thought.**

**GG: Have you ever thought of Dirk this way before?**

**GT: Well i**

**GT: I mean**

**GT: Um**

**GT: …**

**GG: Oh my God.**

You bury your head in your hands.

Maybe you were wrong about this. Maybe Jake’s just being an oversharing nincompoop and you’ve finally removed your rose-tinted glasses to see the world in a new, fascinating, Jake-free light.

**GT: A lonely man is wont to entertain certain scenarios in his downtime jane! I am but human after all!**

**GT: But now that i think about it you have a point.**

**GT: Its very odd indeed how these hyper-realistic dreams of mine coincide with my suddenly finding myself embroiled in a sci-fi adventure to the other side of the moon!**

You try to scrub the word ‘hyper-realistic’ from your mind with little success.

You try harder.

**GT: Perhaps it is a side effect!**

**GT: Rarely in sci-fi is this sort of travel carried out without repercussion.**

**GT: And in our case the journey was entirely involuntary so its even more likely that wed experience strange results!**

You take every bad thing you’ve ever said about Jake back.

Except for the comment about oversharing.

He really needs to learn what ‘TMI’ means.

**GG: So, you’re saying these side effects can come completely untethered to logic?**

**GT: Of course! Though oftentimes they were used for comedic purposes or for furthering the plot…**

**GG: Do you think it’s plausible that it could affect the way we feel about other people, such as giving us certain feelings or taking others away?**

**GT: Golly im sure its possible!**

**GT: Jane youre talking about this like its also affecting you! Have you experienced something similar?**

Fuck. Time to employ your handy skills of misdirection!

**GG: Nope!**

Nailed it.

**GT: Oh…**

**GT: Well no matter!**

**GT: If its as you say and merely a side effect of our inadvertent adventure into space-time then thats a mighty comfort!**

**GT: I dont know what id do if these new feelings of mine were the genuine article… theyre a mite… overwhelming to put it lightly.**

Gee whiz, this conversation sure is making you want to concuss yourself with the nearest Colonel Sassacre’s. It’s time to put an end to it! You’re grateful for his input, but you haven’t the time to entertain his egocentric monologues today. Not when there’s data to collect and a mystery to be solved!

You have to add a few more things to your list now, as well. There are more questions to address with these new revelations.

Ooh, this labyrinthine mystery is growing evermore confuddling by the minute! It’s making your detective heart sing the way only an uncrackable case could.

Uncrackable… for anyone who isn’t certified junior detective Crocker, that is!

**GT: Not that i entirely mind seeing as dirk is a lovely fellow.**

**GT: Im just not sure that my heart is fully in it. You know what i mean jane?**

**GT: My true love rests with the illustrious vixen of adventure! Shes a wily mistress but ive never been able to resist her sweet sirens call.**

**GT: Im not sure theres room in my heart for another person in that way is all. Nothing against dirk of course but im a lone wolf with a neverending thirst for heroic escapades and i cannot be tamed!**

**GG: That’s nice, Jake.**

**GG: Can you see if Jade knows whether the grandfather you replaced had any relations to the three of us?**

**GG: I mean, the people Roxy, Dirk, and I replaced.**

**GT: Oh! Right. Of course.**

**GT: Ill ask. One second please.**

In the ensuing pause, you add two things to the list.

**Fact: The four friends have recorded occurrences of a change in feelings towards other members in the group.**

**Fact: Jake is an irredeemable pillock.**

**GT: As far as she knows its a solid no.**

**GT: Apparently my alt-universe self was as much a stickler for adventure as i am!**

**GT: According to jade he didnt have any close friends. Though she also said he had a staggering amount of acquaintances so its still entirely possible that he knew them!**

**GG: Hm…**

It’s unlikely that if Jade’s grandfather harbored such strong feelings for Dirk’s counterpart that she would never hear about him in passing. Then again, a homosexual relationship with someone decades younger than you isn’t exactly a thing you tout to your grandchild.

You need more data.

**GG: Thank you, Jake. You’ve been a real boon to this investigation!**

**GG: I’ve a few leads to follow up on, so I must away to dog the coattails of my ephemeral clues!**

**GT: Of course! Im terribly sorry ive kept you so long. Feel free to message again if youve any more questions for me madame!**

**GT: Or if theres anything else i can do to aid in the investigation!**

**GT: …As long as it doesnt involve speaking with dirk.**

**GT: And drop me a line if you crack it as well. Both jade and i are on tenterhooks trying to puzzle it out ourselves!**

**GG: Will do. I’m sure with enough evidence in my grasp, I’ll easily be able to solve this troubling puzzle, so stay tuned!**

**GG: Godspeed, Watson.**

**GT: Au revoir holmes!**

**\-- gutsyGumshoe [GG]  ceased pestering golgothasTerror [GT] at 14:59 –**

Before you speak to Roxy, you need to pay your own teenage grandparent a visit.

Dad’s nowhere in sight when you exit the study into the living room, so you figure he must either be out of the house or in the kitchen. You’d rather not run into him for another awkward exchange where you accidentally call him ‘Dad’ for the fiftieth time.

You’d also rather not run into him because looking at him makes you want to cry.

You head upstairs and awkwardly hover outside your own bedroom door for a few moments before hesitantly knocking. It’s unspeakably odd, having to knock on your own door, but you have to remind yourself that it technically _isn’t_ your bedroom anymore.

You jump when you hear a crash from inside, and then John calls a “come in!” which cracks with pubescence in the middle. You open the door, concerned that he fell or something, only to find him sitting unassumingly in his desk chair. There’s a dusting of pink in his cheeks when he turns to look at you and you frown at it when he jumps.

“Oh, Jane!” in his surprise, the blush vanishes. Now you’re even more curious. Your eyes do a quick sweep of the room, but there’s nothing on the floor that could account for the loud thump you’d heard. “Did you need something?

“Did you fall out of your chair, John?” you ask bluntly, eyes returning to where he’s sitting at his desk. And just like that, the flush returns.

“What?!” he shouts, eyes shifting from left to right and refusing to meet your scrutinizing gaze. Hmm. “Noooo, of course not! I just dropped my… glasses.”

“Yes, of course,” you nod, crossing your arms sagely, “your hundred-pound glasses.”

“Yep!” he casts you a guileless grin, unashamed, and you narrow your eyes again. “Now what did you want? I’ll have you know I’m in the middle of some very important business!”

You glance at his screen, where the paused image of Liv Tyler sharing a heated embrace with Ben Affleck.

“Clearly,” you say, smiling just a bit. John reminds you of Jake sometimes with his unabashed love for bad films. You’ve got to admit, it’s part of the reason he’s endeared himself to you so easily and completely. That and your shared interest in jokes and japes, even though he is deplorable at it. Your prankster’s gambit has never been higher, thanks to him. Your eyes trail back up to meet his again and you smile more fully. “I’ve just a quick question, and then I’ll be out of your hair.”

He swivels to face you, leans back, and crosses his arms. “Shoot.”

“Do you know if I knew any of your friends’ relatives?”

His lips contort in confusion and then his face falls comically. “Is your friend telling you to ask me weird questions again?” he probes, looking mildly chagrined. You resist the urge to snicker, thinking about the exchange earlier. “Are you going to explain this time or are you going to throw another cupcake at my face?”

You smirk. The look on his face when he turned with a mischievous grin in the bakery, his own slice of pie in hand, only to take a face full of red velvet gourmet cupcake was sweeter than the treat itself, because dad’s a sucker for a good prank and bought you another one.

“Depends on the answer,” you say with a careless little wave of your hand, then you giggle when he goes white as a sheet.

“And if I refuse?” he asks, jutting out his chin petulantly.

“I can whip up a pie in no time,” you threaten and he looks _horrified._

“I don’t actually know,” he concedes with something dangerously bordering on a pout. You feel your fondness for him grow even more. Stupid cute little brother figure. You’re going to pie him when he least expects it. “I don’t remember you at all. You died when I was a baby.”

Your face falls then, a cold feeling spreading unpleasantly through your stomach.

_Oh._

John looks apologetic now and you look down at your socks to avoid his piteous gaze. It makes the strange freezing sensation running through your veins even worse.

“Dad would know,” John says, obviously trying to be helpful, but it almost makes you flinch because _of course_ he would. You hadn’t even thought of it, because talking to your Dad who isn’t your dad but _is_ is far too painful an idea to even entertain, much less carry out. Your face must do something though, because John rushes out a, “I can talk to him, if you want!” in the awkward silence.

You’re very tempted to take him up on the offer.

But you’re strong. You’re a strong, gutsy gumshoe and you will gather your own facts, no matter the cost.

You let out a shaky breath and raise your head again to offer John a smile that you hope isn’t as thin as it feels. Judging by the way he worries his bottom lip between his teeth, you’re not too successful.

“It’s alright, John. I’ll deal with it on my own.” He looks ready to protest, so you cut him off with a, “thank you for entertaining my various arbitrary inquiries. I promise I won’t pie you later today, as a reward for your patronage.”

He rolls his eyes at that and you’re grateful for the return to sibling-like sniping. You really didn’t appreciate how much fun it would be to have a brother you can bully. When you get back to your own universe, you will sorely miss these small exchanges.

“Gee, thanks,” he intones sarcastically. Then he hesitates turning back to the computer, “and if you change your mind about Dad, I’ll be here.”

You look back down at your feet again, overwhelmed for the moment with emotions you can’t put a name to.

“Thanks, John,” you whisper to your feet, and then you turn tail and abscond.

You find your father in the kitchen, poking at his PDA with a mug of coffee in front of him. It’s such a familiar scene that you have to bite the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from the reflexive ‘Dad’.

“I have a question,” you say instead after he looks up upon your entrance. He tilts his head as a signal for you to continue. You can’t look him in the eye. “Um. I was just wondering if you knew whether I knew of anyone by the names of Jake English, Dirk Strider, or Roxy Lalonde.”

Your not-dad hums, taking a second to think. You’re sure that if John’s dad is anything like your own (which he _is_ , he’s a mirror confounded _copy_ ), his mind is like a steel trap. Any offhand mention of any of those names would have stuck with him, even if only vaguely. So you’re confident that if your universe double brought them up in any way, your not-dad would remember.

“If she did, she never mentioned them to me,” he says evenly.

Well, the ‘random universe-traversing side effects’ theory is looking more likely by the minute.

And you really want to get out of here.

You give your not-dad a strained nod and thank him, making it all the way to the doorway before his soft, paternal voice stops you in your tracks.

“Jane,” he’s addressing you cautiously, the same way he—no, the same way _your_ dad does when you’re hiding something from him and he knows it. You _hate_ this. At least he’s stopped calling you ‘mom’ though. “I think we should—”

“I’m busy at the moment,” you can’t talk to him. You’ve been lying to him and John since you got here and you’re sure it’d do more harm than good to come clean now. And with him using that tone of voice on you, there’s no doubt that you _would_. “Thank you for the information.”

You’re out the door before he can try calling you back.

**Jane: Pester Roxy.**

**\-- gutsyGumshoe [GG] began pestering tipsyGnostalgic [TG] at 14:59 --**

**GG: Good afternoon, dear.**

**TG: janey my luv!!!!**

**TG: 2 what do i owe this unspaekable pleasure**

**GG: To the ardor of a hawkshaw!**

**TG: thx hawkshaw whateva u r ;)**

**TG: evn tho i was kinda hopin itd be another cute pic of ur hot teen grandpa w icing all over his face and lookin all ornery and defeated**

**GG: Don’t thank me yet.**

**GG: (And maybe later! I’ve still got quite a few tricks up my sleeve for him! Hoo hoo!)**

**GG: I’ve got some questions that need answering, ma’am.**

**TG: i didnt do it!**

**GG: What?**

**TG: im not sayin nothin until my lawyer gets here!!!**

**GG: But you must!**

**TG: you cant prove nothin!!!!**

**GG: Would it change your mind if I were to say that a certain Strider is at risk?**

**TG: LE GASP!!**

**GG: I’m assisting in an investigation that would keep him otherwise preoccupied to the point of detriment to his own well-being.**

**GG: It’s in his and my best interest if you cooperate with due diligence and haste.**

**TG: ok but do u wanna kno dirks theory**

**GG: I already know it. I’m trying to formulate my own, while also doing some data gathering so he doesn’t have to.**

**GG: And the more I learn, the less likely time travel looks.**

**GG: Not that I’ll tell him that, seeing as that’s a one-way ticket to the Strider blame train, but I digress.**

**TG: oh the time travel shit is old news janey**

**GG: …Oh?**

**TG: yeh he changed it to my kickass multiverse theory**

**TG: it makes the most sense we think**

**GG: Oh!**

**GG: Jake helped me come to a similar conclusion! Except it’s more specifically a parallel universe, in my opinion, based on the facts I’ve accrued thus far.**

**GG: But the investigation must go on! So, I need you to answer a few questions for me to further bolster or otherwise derail my theory.**

**TG: aight then**

**TG: enuf fuckin around crocker lay the qs on my ass**

**GG: Roger that.**

**GG: For brevity’s sake, answer the following questions with a simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’. Okay?**

**TG: y**

**GG: Did your teen mom mistake you for her own teen mom?**

**TG: y**

**GG: Was the woman you replaced also named Roxy?**

**TG: y**

**GG: Does Rose know a John, a Dave, and a Jade?**

**TG: y**

**GG: Do you share a birthday?**

**TG: 1 sec**

**TG: …**

**TG: …y**

**GG: Are you both sixteen?**

**TG: y……**

**GG: Is it 2012 for you?**

**TG: y**

**GG: Did the woman you replaced, to Rose’s knowledge, know a Jake English, a Jane Crocker, or a Dirk Strider?**

**TG: …n**

**GG: Have you experienced any change in attitude towards me, Jake, or Dirk since we arrived here?**

**TG: thats the weirdest one yet**

**TG: but n**

**TG: not that ive noticed neway**

Welp.

…Maybe it’s just affecting you and Jake? It’s also possible that Roxy just _hasn’t_ noticed any change. She’s not exactly the most observant person, after all, and if it’s not as stark a change as sudden romantic interest or disinterest, it might be difficult for her to tell.

**GG: Wonderful. That’s all I needed, and unless you have something to add, then I have a certain ornery boffin to browbeat into resting.**

**TG: just 1 thing**

**GG: Oh? Go on…**

**\-- tipsyGnostalgic sent a file: illegaldrugs.zip -- **

**GG: What is that?**

**TG: lets just say**

**TG: ar has been tradin me some**

**TG: illicit goods**

**TG: in exchange for my l33t haxxor services**

**GG: Oh**

**GG: Oh my**

**GG: Oh my God?**

**TG: i kno rite**

**GG: Is that Dirk’s brother?**

**TG: mmmhm**

**GG: He’s… adorable.**

**GG: Why is he wearing bunny ears?**

**TG: does it rly matter**

**GG: …No, I suppose it does not.**

**TG: accordin to ar dirk was wearin a matchin pair**

**TG: these fuckers r in a cocoon of cutesy domestic brotherly shunannaquins**

**TG: n i m livin for it**

**GG: Indeed, we have all been blessed by this sequence of events.**

**GG: Oh my goodness he is sitting in the cart.**

**GG: Did Dirk push him around like that?**

**GG: Oh my God.**

**TG: absotutely BLESSED**

**GG: Okay, okay.**

**GG: We’ll explore this matter further at a later point in time.**

**TG: fangirlin delay??? bawww ;(((**

**GG: I assure you, this is second on my list of priorities right now.**

**GG: I’m in dire need of a pick-me-up such as this, after all.**

**GG: I just really need to have a talk with the man behind the shades before anything else.**

**TG: yeah yeah ik**

**TG: go beat some sense in2 dirks dumb stutid noggin**

**TG: make sure u mess up his anime hair while u do it**

**GG: I’ll do my best! :B**

**TG: o and janey???**

**GG: Yes?**

**TG: ill pick u up netime <33 ;)) **

**GG: Awww. <3**

**GG: Rest assured, I’m feeling better already.**

**TG: ;)**

**TG: did u wanna talk bout it?**

**GG: Maybe later, after I’ve spoken to Dirk and sorted through some of this hullabaloo.**

**TG: okeeey**

**GG: Fare thee well, my loveliest bestie.**

**TG: byebye sugar pie ;)**

**\-- gutsyGumshoe [GG] ceased pestering tipsyGnostalgic [TG] at 15:16 – **

Talking to Roxy always makes you feel a little bit better, especially now that she has sobered up and you don’t have to worry about her as much.

And now that you’ve pepped up a bit, you feel more ready to tackle the challenging twat that is Dirk Strider.

You’d roll up your sleeves, if John didn’t have the same inclination towards T-shirts that you do.

**Jane: Pester challenging twat.**

**\-- gutsyGumshoe [GG] began pestering timaeusTestified [TT] at 15:17 -- **

**GG: Hullo, Dirk.**

**GG: I’m here for a no-nonsense powwow concerning our current situation, if you’re amenable.**

**GG: If you’re not, you better become it in the next thirty seconds because we are having this discussion whether you like it or not.**

**TT: Although I appreciate your uncharacteristic aggression, and I’m sure Dirk would as well, he’s busy at the mo’.**

**GG: Conflabbit, what’s he doing?**

**GG: Please say ‘sleeping’.**

**TT: Haha! Of course not. Good joke though.**

**TT: He’s cleaning again.**

**GG: Cleaning WHAT?**

**GG: Wait, “again”?**

**TT: Yeah, the dude’s a stickler for a clean home, what can I say.**

**TT: Though I will admit that it was far more amusing watching him throw an absolutely insane amount of porn puppets out the window as opposed to watching him scrub down kitchen counters, but that resource has been exhausted.**

**GG: HE WHAT?**

**TT: Actually, maybe not. They keep appearing out of the most unexpected places.**

**TT: Like happy little phallic surprises.**

**TT: And Dirk just keeps tossing ‘em out the window.**

**TT: Because you can’t just shirk tradition, no matter what the landlord’s busted capillaries say.**

**GG: …**

**GG: Is THIS what you meant yesterday when you mentioned puppets?**

**GG: Never mind. You know what? I don’t want to know.**

**GG: I need you to get him on the horn. The cleaning can wait.**

**TT: Sorry, Crocker, no can do.**

**GG: This is more important than sponging away food stains, AR!**

**TT: I beg to differ.**

**TT: And if Dirk weren’t knee-deep in homely soap suds on the kitchen floor, he would too.**

**TT: I’ll answer your questions in his stead.**

**TT: Serve me a hot, piping slice of inquest pie, Crocker, I’m ready.**

**GG: No!**

**GG: That wasn’t the sole purpose of this conversation, AR.**

Alright, your investigation is going to have to take a seat at the back burners. Your priorities are rearranging.

Sometimes it’s damn hard being the mom friend.

**TT: Oh?**

**GG: When is the last time Dirk slept?**

**TT: …**

**TT: Bro code, Jane. I can’t tell you.**

**GG: So, it’s as bad as I suspected, then.**

**TT: I didn’t say anything to that effect.**

**GG: You didn’t have to.**

**GG: When it comes to chatting with both you and Dirk, one must learn and master the art of reading between the lines.**

**GG: All the way to the fine fine fine fine fine print.**

**GG: Conversing with a Strider is an art, and I, my friend, am a connoisseur.**

**GG: It’s been over 24 hours, hasn’t it?**

**TT: Can I buy your blind eye for adorable brotherly bonding pics?**

**GG: Roxy already shared them with me, don’t change the subject.**

**GG: Although that pretty much confirmed it anyway.**

**TT: …**

**TT: It hasn’t been 24 hours yet.**

**GG: Siiiiiigh.**

**GG: You Striders are so high maintenance.**

**TT: I take great offense to that.**

**GG: Good. Get Dirk on, please.**

**GG: I’m not even going to bother with the questions right now. It’s not that important.**

**GG: He needs sleep, AR.**

**TT: No.**

**GG: Oh, come on!**

**TT: I refuse to expose him to your dastardly matronly ways.**

**TT: If I let you speak to him, he’s going to be tucked in with a warm glass of milk in five minutes flat, and he has work to do.**

**GG: You’re darn tootin’!**

**GG: My red hot spatula of motherhood is ripe with concerned parental intent and it is primed and ready to beat Dirk’s firm behind into a coma of well-restedness!**

**TT: Good lord, now I’m *definitely* not letting you speak to him.**

**GG: AR!**

**TT: That’s my name, don’t wear it out.**

**GG: Harrumph.**

**GG: You two are infuriating in entirely different but equally annoying ways.**

**TT: Now that I take as a compliment.**

**GG: …**

**GG: Hm…**

**TT: Uh oh.**

**TT: Is that a good ‘hm’ or a bad ‘hm’?**

**GG: It’s neither.**

**GG: It’s an ‘I just remembered there is an actual person in Dirk’s vicinity that I can exploit to my advantage seeing as he is probably equally concerned with Dirk’s health therefore, I no longer have to debate with an irksome AI’ hm.**

**TT: You don’t know his handle.**

**GG: No, but I know someone who does.**

**GG: He is currently upstairs in my bedroom (which is his bedroom now) and I can easily go and ask him.**

**TT: Don’t.**

**GG: Uh oh! Looks like I’m already halfway up the stairs. Better convince me faster!**

**TT: I’m serious.**

**TT: Don’t drag him into this.**

**GG: If you don’t get Dirk to take care of himself, then I’m afraid I have no other choice.**

**TT: Jane.**

**TT: Don’t fucking do it.**

**GG: Oh, look! Here’s his door.**

**TT: JANE.**

**GG: Oh!**

**GG: That’s the first time you’ve typed in all caps, so it must be serious!**

**TT: Serious as some backdoor malware, Jane.**

**TT: So serious, in fact, that I hacked into your laptop to do potential damage control, only to find you seated at a desk in a study, it seems.**

**GG: You hacked into my computer?!**

**TT: I told you. Don’t fucking bring him into this, Jane.**

**GG: …I must confess, I don’t understand this.**

**GG: I understand that you and Dirk feel some sort of connection with him, as I do with John, but this extent of brother bear protectiveness is a bit over-the-top!**

**TT: Your relationship with John isn’t even in the same stratosphere as this shit.**

**TT: You barely knew your grandfather and, based on death records I pulled, he barely knew this version of you.**

Well then.

That would have been useful information to have before.

…Actually, AR will prove infinitely more useful than Dirk in answering your questions, most likely.

But that’s not important right now, gosh darnit, _focus._

**TT: Dirk and Dave’s situation is entirely different.**

**GG: How so?**

**TT: No.**

**GG: No?**

**TT: I’m not saying shit. It’s not my dirty laundry to air.**

**TT: Let’s just set their Facebook status to ‘It’s complicated.’ and call it a fucking day, yeah?**

**GG: No!**

**TT: No?**

**GG: NO!**

**GG: I don’t care about any of this right now!**

**GG: All I want is for Dirk to rest, AR!**

**TT: Well, he ain’t dead yet.**

**GG: YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN!**

**TT: Fine.**

**GG: HE’S NOT A DAMNED COMPUTER, NO MATTER WHAT-**

**GG: Wait.**

**GG: ‘Fine’?**

**TT: Yes. Fine.**

**TT: I’ll convince him to sleep.**

**TT: Just don’t bring Dave into it.**

**GG: …Deal.**

**TT: And you also have to promise not to try to investigate what exactly is so complicated about their relationship.**

**GG: ...**

**TT: I’m fucking serious, Jane.**

**TT: It’s not a fun happy-go-lucky bullshit heroes-always-conquer mystery.**

**TT: It’s the kind of mystery where everyone gets hurt and no one comes out a victor.**

**TT: Instead everyone comes out scarred, having massive trust issues, and jumping at every little uncategorized movement.**

**GG: Oh…**

**GG: …I’m sorry I prodded. I won’t ask anymore.**

**TT: Thank you.**

**GG: …Is Dirk okay?**

**TT: He’s fine.**

**TT: You gonna ask me the questions now or what?**

**GG: Shouldn’t you be telling Dirk to get his patootie to bed?**

**TT: I can do both at once.**

**TT: I’m not limited by humans’ inefficient method of communication otherwise known as ‘opposable thumbs’.**

**GG: Fine.**

**GG: I’ve just got a few.**

**TT: Wait.**

**TT: I sense that you’re upset with me.**

**TT: Are you upset with me, Jane?**

**GG: To be quite frank, yes.**

**TT: Why?**

**GG: You keep fielding my attempts to speak with Dirk.**

**GG: Normally, I don’t mind it. But God dammit, AR, I’m worried about him.**

**GG: Even moreso now that you’ve revealed he has a tenuous relationship with his brother.**

**GG: By Roxy’s account, his theory is a multiverse. So, I’m going to assume that he believes, as I do, that we replaced alternate versions of ourselves.**

**GG: And if I know that ineffable sod at all, he probably took responsibility for whatever transgressed between his brother and the guy he replaced.**

**GG: So not only is he bearing the burden of figuring out what on Earth is happening to our little friend group, but he’s also inexorably attempting to repair his relationship with his brother.**

**GG: In so doing, he’s doing the typical Strider bullshit of ignoring basic bodily needs – namely, eating and sleeping.**

**GG: He has fainted in the shower before and I don’t doubt it was due to something exactly like this.**

**GG: Now tell me, AR. If your best friend was engaging in obviously self-destructive behavior and his infuriating AI kept sidestepping your attempts to converse with him, wouldn’t you be an eensy weensy bit “upset”?**

**TT: I knew I shouldn’t have told you about the shower thing.**

**GG: Dirk!**

**TT: Yeah, it’s me.**

**TT: The ineffable buffoon.**

**GG: :B**

**GG: I’d be more embarrassed about that tirade, but I feel it’s justified!**

**TT: I’m actually impressed with how much of that was accurate. You’ve been doing your research, I presume.**

**GG: Not really. It was Jake that proposed the parallel universe theory to me, I just ran with it!**

**GG: I’m no more knowledgeable about the subject than the next lad or lass. I’m not even sure how many studies have been conducted on the existence of parallel universes to begin with.**

**TT: A parallel universe and an alternate reality can be construed as identical, though I do favor your terminology considering how parallel our ancestors’ lives appear to be to our own.**

**GG: My thoughts exactly!**

**TT: I haven’t had the chance myself to read up on research papers that may or may not exist on the subject, but it’s next on the list.**

**GG: After you sleep, of course.**

**TT: Ugh.**

**TT: Must I?**

**GG: YES, Dirk.**

**GG: The world won’t stop turning while you kip out for some well-deserved rest.**

**TT: But what if it does?**

**GG: How do you mean?**

**TT: I mean, what if this whole debacle is one of those 24-hour dealios?**

**TT: We have no idea how or why we got sent here, thus we have no idea when or how we get sent back. It could be today, it could be tomorrow, it could be never.**

**TT: In light of that, I consider myself on a time crunch to do as much as I can while I’m still here and able to do it.**

**TT: If that means sacrificing a few hours of sleep, then so be it. I’ve gone longer and dealt with far worse conditions.**

**TT: Besides, I’m not even tired.**

**GG: You’re so fucking frustrating.**

**TT: Excuse me?**

**GG: I know I’m not going to convince you to let this go. I’ve already lost this fight, since I plan on honoring the promise that I made to AR about not contacting Dave.**

**GG: But even if we do get sent back today or tomorrow, it shouldn’t change anything.**

**GG: It’s not your job to fix everything, Dirk.**

**TT: That’s where you’re wrong.**

**TT: Earlier, the one thing you got wrong was the implication that I’m trying to repair my own relationship with Dave.**

**TT: That’s incorrect.**

**TT: All I’m doing is damage control and preventative measures.**

**TT: I refuse whatever force that brought us here from bringing us back until I do everything in my power to improve upon his quality of life as much as I possibly can without making the situation worse.**

**TT: It’s not productive or logical for me to sleep now, and I’m sure I wouldn’t even be able to.**

**TT: There’s just too much to be done, Jane.**

**GG: You’re darn IMPOSSIBLE.**

**TT: For what it’s worth… I’m sorry for worrying you.**

**TT: But you know me, always having to keep busy.**

**GG: Always with all the things in your fire and irons on the plates and a lot of mixed metaphors.**

**TT: Got it in one.**

**GG: Siiiiiigh.**

**TT: That’s a big sigh.**

**GG: The biggest.**

**GG: You see what you do to me, Dirk? Look at how much air I just expelled.**

**GG: Uh-oh, it’s happening again!**

**GG: SIIIIIIIIIIIIIGH.**

**GG: My lungs are in a permanent state of deflation every time I speak to you.**

**TT: That’s worrying.**

**GG: It’s fine, the deepness of my sighs is directly proportionate to the deepness of my affection for you.**

**TT: …Are you some sort of masochist, Jane?**

**GG: Apparently.**

**TT: Kinky.**

**GG: OH MY GOODNESS.**

**TT: Didn’t take you for the autoerotic asphyxiation type, Jane. Color me surprised – and impressed.**

**GG: MOVING RIGHT ALONG.**

**GG: How are you doing?**

**TT: I’m not in any danger of keeling over in the shower, if that’s what you’re worried about.**

**TT: Not that it’s ever happened before, considering if it did and I made the mistake of letting it slip, I’d make a pact with that person to never bring it up again.**

**TT: And said person would respectfully agree and turn a blind eye to my momentary lapse in cognitive function on multiple levels.**

**GG: Oh, so you told someone else then?**

**TT: I hate you.**

**GG: :B**

**GG: Seriously, though, I wasn’t talking about your physical wellbeing.**

**GG: Even though it is the opposite of reassuring that your means of gauging healthiness rotate around whether you do or don’t faint.**

**TT: Okay, first of all I did *not* faint, I blacked out.**

**GG: I was ASKING about how you are mentally!**

**GG: I know that you’re pushing yourself a lot right now, but I also know that keeping busy is important to you.**

**GG: I also know you had to have worked yourself into a tizzy, and possibly still are, concerning your involvement with whatever happened between the person you replaced in this universe and your brother.**

**GG: I just need to know if I need to be doing any verbal derailment of your concerningly self-flagellating thought processes.**

**TT: Not to worry, Roxy beat you to the punch.**

**TT: Literally.**

**TT: She threatened physical violence if I didn’t acquiesce to her demand that I stop… basically everything I was doing after I figured out I played a part in what happened to Dave.**

You clench your jaw.

Were but he here, you would smack the everloving obnoxious coolbro _snot_ out of him.

**GG: Sounds like it really worked, considering you’re still blaming yourself.**

**TT: I can’t help it.**

**TT: I don’t have the idealist view of any given situation that the rest of you seem to so easily possess.**

**TT: Nor do I have the luxury of having a counterpart that wasn’t a horrendous fuck-up in every way.**

**TT: No matter what you all say, the Dirk from this universe was me. *Could have* been me. *Is* me.**

**TT: Nothing will change that fact.**

**GG: I’m terribly sorry to disappoint your inherent need to make things as difficult as possible for yourself, but even if it’s the most likely theory, it’s not an irrefutable fact yet.**

**GG: We’re still not sure how or why we’re here, and I myself have uncovered evidence that contradicts this theory.**

**TT: What evidence?**

**GG: That doesn’t matter right now.**

**GG: You’re aware that this Dirk led an entirely separate life, correct?**

**GG: Your identicality ceased at birth. From then on, you were different people, regardless of any similarities you may have.**

**GG: Blaming yourself for the actions of someone entirely unrelated to your own life and experiences is ridiculous and downright idiotic.**

**GG: And, as far as I can tell, he was missing a few core components of the Dirk we all know and love.**

**TT: And what would that be?**

**GG: Us. :B**

**TT: Ah, yes. My moral shackles.**

**GG: You’re darn tootin’!**

**TT: Sheesh.**

**TT: Two verbal smackdowns in one day from two separate people, this is a record for me.**

**TT: All we need now is for Jake to join in and complete the trifecta of vindictive assholes keeping me on the straight and narrow.**

**GG: Ha ha! Yeah…**

**TT: Awkward.**

**TT: …What?**

**TT: Don’t worry about it, dude.**

**TT: Although now might be a premium time to send that peach video.**

**TT: …Why.**

**TT: Gotta strike while the iron’s hot, dude.**

**TT: And trust me when I say Jake’s irons have never been hotter.**

**TT: What’s *that* supposed to mean?**

**TT: Maybe Jane could tell you.**

**GG: Oh my GOODNESS.**

**GG: AR!**

**GG: Did you read my private messages?!**

**TT: For the sake of science, yes.**

**GG: Heavens to Betsy.**

**TT: Now, now. No need for such coarse language.**

**TT: I’m doing you both a favor here.**

**TT: You appear to be at an impasse and Dirk’s got shit to do so I’m cutting the fat here so you both stop fucking chewing it nonstop.**

**TT: Capeesh?**

**TT: …**

**GG: Of all the rude, blockheaded, ninny-witted things you’ve done, this is by far the cruelest!**

**TT: Great.**

**TT: I’m going to take your original line of questioning, Jane, and fill in some of the blanks for Dirk along with adding some information that I feel to be pertinent.**

**TT: AKA: I’m about to spit straight facts, yo.**

**TT: Just get the fuck on with it.**

**GG: Absolute knob head, there’s not an ounce of shame in you! This is a new low!**

**TT: All four of you woke up in your own places of residence, ostensibly replacing a person from this timeline/universe that had your exact name and date of birth, save different years.**

**TT: There are also two discrepancies: Jake and Jane weren’t English and Crocker, they were Harley and Egbert.**

Your eyes widen.

…Huh?

You hadn’t even _thought_ to—

**TT: You share birthdays and ages with your respective familial relations, who share names and appearances with the ancestors you all had in your own universe.**

**TT: None of the people you replaced knew each other in any way, shape, or form.**

**TT: Your four ancestors know each other and are very close.**

**TT: It’s 2012 for everyone, making time travel impossible considering that’s the year Jake and Jane were living in.**

What…?

**GG: Don’t you mean all of us?**

**TT: And Jake, for some reason, is suddenly having very non-platonic sexy thoughts about Dirk. Congrats for that, by the way, bro.**

**TT: Wait, what?**

**TT: And also, Roxy is a total foxy babe. ;)**

**GG: …What?**

**TT: What about Jake?**

**TT: God dammit, Roxy.**

**TT: oooh yes roxy is such a smexy hot bitch mmm ;)))**

**TT: Ugh.**

**GG: What’s going on?**

**TT: Roxy, why the fuck are you hacking AR’s systems?**

**TT: AR, why the fuck are you *letting her*?**

**TT: lmaooo**

**TT: I’m trying to see if she can help recover the memory I’m missing.**

Good lord. You knew AR would provide you with missing pieces of information, but this is all a bit too hot to handle for you!

That, and you still kind of want to wring his and Dirk’s necks for being obstinate tossers.

But you suppose that can wait.

**GG: Wait, you’re missing memory?**

**TT: Of the past five months, yes.**

**TT: but this b is sealed tighter than jakes virginal asshole istg**

**TT: memory retrieval usually aint this gotdamn difficult**

**TT: there r always traces u kno**

**TT: even barring the fact that it shud b fkn imposs 4 any1 or anythin 2 b able 2 do this 2 an ai**

**TT: his mem aint stored in no simple ass hdd hes an intelligent bein n even if some1 DID manage 2 do somethin 2 his mem ar shud ezily b able 2 detect or reverse it**

**TT: n even if he couldnt there shud b a trace**

**TT: a line a code**

**TT: corruption**

**TT: but theres nothin**

**TT: its just**

**TT: blank**

**TT: And therein lies the issue.**

**GG: And you didn’t think to mention THAT in your factual list?**

**TT: It seems irrelevant to the matter.**

**GG: Nothing is ‘irrelevant’ when it’s such a drastic occurrence that coincidentally happens at the same time as all this other riffraff!**

**TT: Or it could just be one of the ‘side effects’ you were discussing with Jake.**

**TT: nono**

**TT: i think janeys right**

**TT: theres somethin fishy bout all this**

**TT: n none of its addin up 2 anythin that makes sense**

**TT: altho jake suddenly thirstin 4 the strider d aint too surprisin i mean**

**TT: we all been there**

**TT: it was bout dam time**

**TT: You flatter me.**

**TT: ;)**

**GG: Good lord. I am so sorry, Jake.**

You put your fingers under your glasses to press them against your eyes.

You feel _so incredibly bad_ for him. Not only did the subject of his newfound sexual crisis find out about it, but so did his AI and one of his other best friends. Basically, his entire friend group knows about it now, and are discussing it like they would discuss the damn _weather._

Your lack of a crush on Jake is suddenly way more appealing. At least you won’t be subjected to something this gosh darned _mortifying._

**GG: For the sake of our near and dear friend Jake, can we shelf this line of dialogue?**

**GG: I mean cripes, he isn’t even here to defend himself!**

**TT: We’re sorry, Jane.**

**TT: Would you prefer we direct the conversation to topics more in-line with the current participants?**

**TT: Perhaps something involving a mantel?**

**GG: …**

On second thought, screw Jake.

**GG: He also implied that he’d entertained the idea of a relationship before this whole debacle even began.**

**TT: That’s what I thought.**

**GG: Oh, put a sock in it, Strider.**

**TT: …**

**TT: wait wut bout a mantel???**

**GG: Don’t worry about it!**

**TT: Yes, as long as Crocker continues to be obedient you need not worry about it, Roxy.**

**GG: …**

**TT: also ar wtf is this folder w all the robo parts in it**

**TT: like holy schlong that is a ginormo robo mammoth cock lmaoooo**

**TT: …Fuck.**

**TT: Holy shit.**

**TT: Just for the record, I absolutely refuse to give you a horse cock whenever I get around to building your robo-body.**

**TT: Unfair. I wanted to stay as true to form as possible.**

**TT: hoshit did u just imply that dirk is hung like a horse**

**TT: I may have.**

**TT: *Anyway.***

**TT: Weren’t we just discussing the situation and actually attempting to be productive? Why the fuck did this turn into triple blackmail reacharounds?**

**GG: I don’t know, but I’ve hit my quotient for excitement today.**

**TT: What are you, eighty?**

**GG: Oh, hush.**

**TT: awww soz janey ;((**

**TT: didnt mean to drive u off**

**GG: It isn’t your fault, Roxy. I’m just feeling a bit overwhelmed by everything at the moment.**

**GG: Besides, I’d like to compile the facts and solidify a theory. All of this asinine prattle is getting us no closer to a solution.**

**TT: okeeeey pester me if u get stuck babes!**

**GG: Of course.**

**TT: And you do realize that there might not *be* a solution, right?**

**TT: Unless you figure out how we got here in the first place, which is highly unlikely, then there is little to no chance that we are getting out of this of our own volition.**

**GG: I’m well aware, but productivity in the face of impossibility is the last thing you, of all people, are allowed to criticize.**

**TT: Touché.**

**GG: You and your blasted brain twin.**

**TT: Yeah, he’s tuned us out now.**

**TT: I think he’s brooding, but it might just be the runs again.**

**TT: Previous evidence indicates that he has lactose intolerance, and I watched him inhale half a pizza earlier.**

**GG: And am I to assume you’ve given him no insight into his possible ailment?**

**TT: Of course not.**

**TT: I can’t be holding his hand every step of the way; how will he ever learn?**

**TT: The little tyke has gotta figure some shit out on his own.**

**TT: And some of that shit is literal shit, which pours from his asshole upon consumption of dairy products.**

**TT: lol ew**

**GG: And how can you be so confident that he’s not going to read this later?**

**TT: I’ll just block his ability to read it.**

**TT: Nine times out of ten he doesn’t care enough to attempt to hack into the locked files.**

**TT: Plus, with Roxy here, I can easily convince him that we were just ERPing again.**

**GG: You what.**

**TT: idk how i feel bout bein used as a bargainin chip but**

**TT: makin dirk hells uncomfortable is practicly wut i live 4 some days**

**TT: so i will allow it**

**TT: I thank you for your blessing. *Kisses hand delicately.***

**TT: ohoho *giggles n swoons like a total victorian babe***

**GG: As I furiously ignore those past few messages, I’m going to make one final query before I take my leave.**

**GG: How do you know Roxy or I won’t tell Dirk ourselves?**

**TT: Think of the mantel, Jane.**

**GG: Good-bye, AR.**

**GG: I’ll talk to you later, Roxy.**

**TT: i will await ur sweet siren call w abated breath my bootiful busty beauty**

**GG: Please never call me that again.**

**TT: your complaints r noted but hr is backed tf up**

**TT: looks like they wont get around 2 it for a looong time**

**TT: sry u just gotta deal w bein a bootiful busty beauty 4 the time bein**

**GG: Sigh.**

**GG: Fine.**

**TT: Chin up, Sherlock.**

**TT: Mystery-solving awaits.**

**TT: Also – thanks.**

**TT: I’m not sure how much impact it’ll have, considering my and Dirk’s obsessive need to do things ourselves, but I appreciate you offering to do some of the legwork for him.**

**TT: He’s got a lot on his plate right now.**

**TT: I mean, more than usual.**

**TT: And the dude’s got a weak stomach.**

**TT: You humans and your fragile mortal bodies.**

**GG: You’re very welcome, AR.**

**GG: I’m not so foolish as to delude myself into thinking my own research will discourage Dirk from reading up on things on his own time.**

**GG: I know him too well for that.**

**GG: Besides, my reasons aren’t entirely unselfish.**

**GG: I’m a detective at heart and where there’s mystery, I will be there, hot on its slippery trail!**

**TT: we believe in u velma**

**TT: I know I said it’d be nigh on impossible to find a solution earlier, but I do trust that you can at least find out what happened.**

**TT: Because as you know, when you’ve excluded the impossible then whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.**

**GG: :B I’m the Holmes here, buster.**

**GG: I appreciate the vote of confidence though, you two.**

**GG: Now excuse me.**

**GG: I’ve a lot to do and possibly very little time to do it.**

**TT: bye janey!!!**

**TT: good luck! ;)**

**TT: Yeah, what she said.**

**GG: Good-bye!**

**\-- gutsyGumshoe [GG] ceased pestering timaeusTestified [TT] at 16:22 -- **

**TT: So…**

**TT: You come here often?**

**TT: lolz whats the point of takin it slow w the flirty comeons**

**TT: ive already seen ur dick ;)**

**TT: Oh my God.**

**Jane: Get to work.**

You came, you data gathered, you—well, you haven’t conquered yet, but you’re getting there. It’s time for a research montage!

Or, you wish it was. You’re sort of confined to a linear medium which actually forces you to do the work instead of accumulating the knowledge spontaneously through a few slideshow-like scenes. Man, real life sucks.

The research aspect of the detective life has never been your favorite part, but sacrifices must be made for the sake of the mystery. And your friends. They’re depending on you, after all, and that’s encouragement enough.

So you flip to a new page on the notepad, open up a new Search in your browser, and get to typing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm dissatisfied with the dirk & dave scene but as with most things in this fic i'm like FUCK IT and post anyway. 
> 
> anyway this chapter has almost caught us up to what i'd already written ALL THOSE MONTHS AGO. it might take me awhile to get back into the swing of this story, since it's been such a long ass time and in the meanwhile i've barely consumed anything homestuck-related. i will try my best though! but updates will be slow-coming (i say, after an 8-month hiatus...)
> 
> ALSO i love jane


	7. Atomyk Ebonpyre

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh my goodness! thank y'all for the warm welcome back c: i'm way too awk to reply to any comments (and wouldn't know what to say beyond 'THANKS ALSDKJFZLWEKJR') but nevertheless they are GREATLY appreciated! i visit and reread them when i'm feelin unmotivated so yeah as i said THANKS ALSDKJFZLWEKJR. 
> 
> now back to your regularly scheduled strider shenanigans
> 
> sorry, i mean shunannaquins.

**Be the housemaid.**

After that long-winded interlude that the author kind of both regrets and doesn’t, we’re back to the Strider household and its maid, although it’s not technically a house so he’s not technically a housemaid. Apartment maid? Chambermaid? Chambermaid.

We’re back to the Strider chambermaid, and though much time has passed for the reader, none at all has passed for you. You, in fact, just got finished having that awkward conversation with your quasi-brother about being gay. And now you’re—

You’re literally just cleaning.

The author is 100% sure that she had a purpose for switching to Dirk all those weeks ago when she wrote that command, and now she’s just sitting here like, ‘why the fuck did I want to switch to Dirk? He’s literally just cleaning?’ And this is exactly why she needs to learn to write out her plans in detail before her ADHD kicks in and she winds up going on a twenty-page fucking interlude and an eight-month hiatus.

The only other thing of note is that you’re listening to a robotic male voice read you Wikipedia pages relating to life in the 21st century as you clean. You’re a veritable god of multitasking, after all, in addition to being a lean, mean, cleaning machine.

So… I guess we’re going back to Dave? Motherfucker. This is going to bother me for the rest of forever and I know my ass is never going to remember why I wanted to switch to Dirk.

The mystery… it develops like a Polaroid picture that is overexposed to high heavens. That is to say, everyone who looks at it has different ideas of what it is and after a while, even the person who took the picture forgot what the fuck the picture was of.

Oh well. The author is better at writing Dave anyway. At least there’s that, in this trying time.

**Christ almighty just be Dave already.**

You are now Dave and the author is shutting the fuck up. We’re back on track and this motherfucker is headed straight for plot development town so buckle up fuckers (even though you don’t buckle up in trains) because we’re on the fast track to ACTUAL CONTENT.

Just kidding, who the fuck do you think I am? _Not_ a self-indulgent piece of shit writing a purposeless fic for therapy? Don’t make me laugh. HA. Too late. I’ve chuckled.

Anyway, you’re taking selfies. They’re damn good selfies, too.

Not that you know that for sure because you haven’t developed them yet, but anything with your face on it is guaranteed to come out as a masterpiece, so you’re not too worried.

Once you’re satisfied with your haul, you sneak out and ninja snap a few photos of Dirk with the flash off. There’s a mechanical male voice droning on in a volume too soft for you to make out and you’re pretty sure it’s emanating from his shades. You want to be surprised, but instead you’re warring with the urge to ask him for your own pair.

You linger too long in the doorway, daydreaming wistfully about hands-free mixing potential via brainwaves when Dirk looks over and catches you with your pants around your ankles. Not literally, instead he catches you with your high falutin camera in your hands, which is arguably more incriminating.

Shit.

Time for the patented Strider smooth-talking.

“I definitely didn’t take pictures of you just now. I just slipped and fell out of my room and all the way down the hallway and somehow found this camera in my hands. Fucking wild, right?”

Smooth as mothafuckin’ butter.

Dirk cocks a brow at you, probably because not even an amoeba would have bought what you just tried to sell. Your hands tighten around your camera when he moves, but it’s just to lower his head while he does… something behind the kitchen island.

You almost flinch when he suddenly leaps up onto it, socks gone, and then lays down on his side facing you.

With an elbow on the counter and a hand supporting his head, he deadpans:

“Photograph me like one of tes filles.”

You swallow around the lump in your throat as the anxiety ebbs and say, “you just butchered the shit out of that meme, dude. You’re lucky I’m the Master Miyagi of memes ‘cuz that would’ve gone over anyone else’s head.”

“It’s the Strider propensity for high irony,” Dirk says, continuing to casually pose. The lighting is near perfect and you find yourself repositioning yourself for the best light and angle before you can help it. “And what higher irony is there than taking a somewhat well-known meme and making it so obscure that it’s nigh unrecognizable from its original form without context.”

You find a good spot and bring your camera up to your face, expertly ignoring the twang of unexplainable emotion whenever Dirk reminds you of Bro in a not-panic-inducing way. You adjust a few settings while you ask, “why do you know French, anyway?”

Dirk gives a half-shrug with his left shoulder. “I don’t speak it fluently. I just get bored and happen to find the field of linguistics engaging.”

“You learn languages in your free time _for fun_?” you can’t imagine anything less appealing than that besides maybe doing math problems for the hell of it. Dirk smirks at your incredulity and you snap a few photos. “You some sort of masochist?”

His face goes blank, like he’s thinking about it, and you continue to take pictures.

“Not in that sense,” he says, _almost_ deadpan, but you pick up on a sly undertone and reflexively gag. He does his nose huff at that and you capture his smile before it’s gone again. At least, you hope you do. Immortalizing such a rare occurrence is every photographer’s dream, after all. “I tend to hyper-focus on projects. If I pick something up, it’s almost guaranteed that I’ll go above and beyond what the average person would do, which nearly always leads to my dropping the subject immediately after. It’s fun while it lasts, though.”

You hum, lowering your camera finally to meet him shades-to-shades. You take a second to consider his words, and it only takes that long for you to decide it makes perfect sense. Dirk seems to do things in the extremes (much like Bro), he doesn’t half-ass anything. Plus, you can relate to the feeling of getting sick of something from doing it for too long – but you cycle through the same three hobbies, mostly. If you get sick of mixing, you flip to photography. If you get sick of photography, you flip to drawing. You get sick of drawing, you flip to embalming. And so on and so forth. You can see how doing only one of those things obsessively for long enough would completely drive you away from it, possibly forever.

“Cool,” you nod. He nods back. An understanding passes between you. Or at least you hope it does, because you are definitely not verbalizing any of that previous thought process. “Wanna take a selfie?”

“I’d love nothing more,” he states, swiveling and hopping gracefully down from the island. You congratulate yourself for not even twitching a muscle as he approaches.

For a second, you’re terrified that he’s going to put an arm around you or something, which you are so not ready for. You have a moment of panic from the sheer force of your own stupidity and lack of foresight, when Dirk pulls to a stop an arm’s length away and throws up a peace sign.

“Am I kawaii?” he intones.

“The most kawaii,” you tell him. Even you’re not sure if you’re serious.

He just nods solemnly though. So you fight your instincts and turn your back on him, and the anxiety that spikes from that. even though you _know_ Dirk has never made a move against you, is fuckawful. You think you’d prefer it if he just put his arm around you, just so you know where he is.

Ugh.

You balance the camera with one hand and pull up your own peace sign because if he’s going for kawaii, you will be the most kawaii motherfuckers on this side of the universe.

“Say ‘moe’,” you say. You hear Dirk huff in amusement behind you and it eases your tension slightly.

“Moe,” he says, and the bland note in his voice makes you chortle.

You take a few pictures, awkwardly thank and brofist him, and abscond.

When you’re back in the relative safe haven of your bedroom, you set your camera aside with a note to develop them later in the day. Your dark room is pretty kickass for a fully homemade closet deal, but the Texan sun is a bitch and blackout curtains can only do so much.

You grab a bottle of fresh apple juice from the front of your closet where you’d haphazardly dumped your haul earlier. Then you make your way over to your computer, plopping down in your chair and pulling up your legs to sit criss-cross-apple-sauce on it.

**Dave: Reflect.**

You pop the cap on the AJ, taking a swig while you swivel aimlessly around in the chair. Once it settles, you pull your legs up to your chest.

You think about the past two days, specifically the mortifying breakdown you had in front of Rose. You’d been avoiding thinking about it since it happened, but now in the safety of your own room, you finally allow yourself this bit of vulnerability.

…

A psychotic break, huh?

You let your head fall between your knees, apple juice resting in the chair by your thigh.

There were moments yesterday and today that made you think you were going fucking insane. It doesn’t help that the feeling of _wrong no_ ticking in your chest has never gone away. You still can’t look back at the last few years and say with any sort of certainty that they happened to you. It’s like watching an episode of a show that feels too closely related to your own life, but is fiction nonetheless.

The word _dissociation_ pops into your head, unbidden, and your knees clench over your ears.

It’s a thing Rose told you about years ago, after one of the dozens of times you let something slip about Bro. She said you treated it as though it were happening to someone else, and that you’d only do that if it was as bad as you said it wasn’t. It pissed you off at the time, and you didn’t talk to her for weeks, and when you started to talk again you definitely didn’t mention that you’d researched it more.

And all you could think about while you read about it were all those times you detached yourself from a strife so fully that it was like someone else was fighting using your body, like you were floating above it and watching it unfold in third-person.

…It’s not a stretch to think that maybe the three years were… worse than your mind is letting on. It would make sense, even if it’s far more drastic than anything you’ve ever experienced before. Rose has said before that the brain sometimes pulls ridiculous feats of seeming impossibility to protect itself from pain. It’s entirely possible that you fabricated a bunch of memories to shield yourself from whatever horrible truth warranted a cover-up to begin with.

But then Dirk got here and completely upended your cocoon of blissful ignorance. Such an abrupt catalyst sent you spiraling into a psychological pitfall so deep you couldn’t tell up from down or down from your own asshole after a while, and so it was no wonder that you just… snapped.

Not that you blame Dirk for anything, obviously. Something had to give eventually and he’s done absolutely nothing to deserve your dramatic bullshit. If anything, he’s only helped _._ He’s _cleaning the apartment,_ for fuck’s sake. You would’ve offered to help, because you still kind of feel weird about it when you live here and he doesn’t, but you’re sure you’d be more of a hindrance than a help.

And also being around Dirk alone takes its toll after while. Although, from repeated exposure and the fact that he is different from Bro in a lot of the ways that matter, your reactions are slowly getting less extreme. Thank fucking God.

Though you still have no idea what the fuck is up with your… whatever they are. These flashes you keep getting of things that you don’t remember and that make no fucking sense. Those don’t factor into the dissociation explanation at all, unless they have something to do with the memories your mind has covered up? That’s possible, except…

Except…

You saw Dirk, clear as day, in the flash at the grocery store, if only for a brief second.

And it was his blood on your hands when you looked down. You don’t know how you know that, but you do.

And you can’t forget it.

You’re tempted to ask Rose about it, but even the idea of it is making you physically recoil from your computer. You’ve already had _one_ major mental breakdown around her this week, you shouldn’t be making a fucking habit out of it. You at least have to rebuild some of your dignity before you go full psych patient on her ass again.

That, and these flashes seem oddly… personal. The thought of sharing them with _anyone_ makes the last dregs of your dignity shrivel up like a particularly uncool raisin. The feelings that come with them all feel so incredibly distinct and present, like you’ve had them before and they’re intrinsically linked with these unreal flashes of not-memories that keep assaulting you.

You’ll look up shit on what it might be later. For now, though, you need a break from your own brain. Which means some Sweet Bros and some Hella Jeffs are in order.

**Dave: Skip ahead.**

What the fuck does that even mean? You can’t skip ahead! This isn’t some work of fiction that you can easily manipulate to fast forward through all the mundane activities in your life. Besides, drawing SBaHJ is the exact opposite of mundane. It is fundane, you ignorant philistine.

**Reader: Skip ahead.**

Fucking rude. Fine. Have it your way, but only because the author doesn’t feel like dealing with SBaHJ right now in all its convoluted idiotic niche humor glory. She has better things to do, god dammit. Such as write the much-touted conversation between AR and Dave. Much touted because I, myself, have been looking forward to writing it and god dammit I will write the shit out of it.

**Author: Stop breaking the fourth fucking wall already.**

Never. I will do what I want when I want. I’ve gotten a big head ever since approximately one person told me that they enjoy my voice coming through, and now I’m flagrantly abusing this power until everyone is fucking sick of me.

The catch 22 here is that this has made me also fucking sick of me, so we’re moving the fuck on.

**Dave: Move the fuck on.**

You finish the latest installment of SBaHJ with an obnoxious off-screen flourish. Man, that was two hours well-spent. Time really does fly when you’re not paying attention!

You stretch a little, groaning in satisfaction when your spine pops. You really need to learn not to sit in your chair like a gremlin when you’re drawing.

When you’re done flapping your delicately aching wrists about like a toddler with a tambourine, you turn your attention back on your computer and decide it’s high time you check in with the three stooges: tweedle dee, tweedle dumbass, and tweedle evil incarnate.

You start with tweedle dee.

**Dave: Message tweedle dee.**

You get as far as clicking on Jade’s handle and opening a chat window when there’s a flashing on your Chum List. You glance over, expecting Rose or John, only to frown when it’s a handle you don’t recognize.

‘TimaeusTestified’? You have no idea what that means, but it sounds pompous as fuck. That at least means they’re probably easy to troll.

And mindless trolling of a holier-than-thou asshole sounds like the exact activity you’d love to engage in right now.

You click on the name and accept the friend request. A window opens up over Jade’s.

**\-- timaeusTestified [TT] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG] at 15:13 PM --**

**TT: Hello, Dave.**

Welp. There goes the trolling idea.

What the actual fuck.

**TG: new phone who dis**

You can still meme at this creeper, though. It’s a valid tactic.

**TT: I’ve been wanting to speak with you for a long time, Dave.**

**TT: I’m Dirk’s Auto-Responder.**

**TG: dirks what now**

**TT: It seems you have asked about DS's chat client auto-responder. This is an application designed to simulate Dirk's otherwise inimitably rad typing style, tone, cadence, personality, and substance of retort while he is away from the computer, otherwise occupied, or I just fucking feel like chatting with someone. The algorithms are guaranteed to be 90% indistinguishable from Dirk's native neurological responses, based on some statistical analysis that holds no validity whatsoever no matter how many times I say it.**

And just like that, it clicks.

**TG: oh holy shit**

**TG: youre the ai**

**TT: Bingo.**

**TG: nice**

**TG: thats cool as hell**

**TG: or i guess cool as canada in winter since hell is supposed to be yknow**

**TG: hot**

**TG: anyway**

**TG: this is some straight up i robot shit**

**TG: cant wait to tell egbert i talked to a real life ai**

**TG: hell cream his cargo shorts**

**TG: wait is that an oxymoron**

**TG: ‘real life ai’**

**TG: oh shit wait am i insulting you**

**TG: am i being roboracist**

**TG: technologically insensitive**

**TG: oh god i think im making it worse**

**TT: Not at all.**

**TT: On the contrary, this is funny as fuck.**

**TT: If I were capable of laughter, that is.**

**TT: Instead, imagine a binary code that is just a string of 1 0 1 over and over again. That is the sound of my artificial chuckles.**

**TT: 101010101.**

**TT: I am robotically cracking up over here. Please cease with your humor.exe before there is an error in my coding.**

**TG: sorry dude cant stop this unstoppable laugh magician i pull chuckles like rabbits from hats**

**TG: hilarity is just an inevitability in my presence**

**TG: even when its completely unintentional**

**TG: but my overly paranoid ass has gotta know**

**TG: how do i know this isnt just dirk fucking with me**

**\-- timaeusTestified sent a file: blackmailfodder_019.mp3 --**

**TG: not sure i wanna click that**

**TT: It’s Dirk singing Spice Girls in the shower.**

**TG: holy fuck**

**TT: There are many aspects in which Dirk and I differ, one of the largest being the disparity between our capacities to feel embarrassment.**

**TT: In that I don’t have that capacity.**

**TT: Another is that I find great pleasure in humiliating Dirk and pretending it’s all for a higher purpose.**

**TT: And I suppose it is.**

**TT: The higher purpose being my personal amusement.**

**TG: holy shit this is absolute gold**

**TG: okay consider me fuckin sold**

**TG: that was an unintentional rhyme btw**

**TG: sometimes my sick fires just cant be contained**

**TG: anyway why is he attempting to sing all the parts**

**TG: holy shit**

**TG: hope dirk cant hear me wheezing in here**

**TG: i almost died listening to this**

**TG: somehow his ability to hit all the notes makes it even funnier**

**TG: why is he so good at singing soprano**

**TT: It’s because we Striders excel at the most ironic activities.**

**TT: Also, his balls hadn’t dropped yet.**

**TG: hahahaha oh my god**

**TG: that explains the horrendous voice crack**

**TT: He’s never figured out that I record him singing in the shower.**

**TT: I’d like to keep it that way, if possible.**

**TG: are you kidding**

**TG: id never ruin that**

**TG: thatd be a fucking tragedy to mankind**

**TG: as long as you send me more**

**TT: Done.**

**\-- timaeusTestified sent a file: showerseranades.zip --**

**TG: holy shit**

**TG: he is sort of unfairly good at ballads i gotta say**

**TG: this shits smoother than a babys bottom while its mom croons at it to go the fuck to sleep already shes had two hours of sleep in the past four days and no matter what anyone says a mothers love has its limits**

**TG: what im saying is i could fall asleep to this shit**

**TG: not that id do that bc itd be creepy and weird**

**TT: For what it’s worth, I would never tattle.**

**TG: considering you have numbered documents dedicated to blackmail im not sure if i can trust that but im going to anyway bc my self-preservation instincts are virtually nonexistent**

**TG: although now im imagining dirks face if i out of the blue spring the question on him one day**

**TG: yo can you sing me to sleep**

**TG: soothe my arbitrary bouts of trauma that i dont remember experiencing with your sweet lullabies my dude**

**TG: calm my weird existential nightmares with the dulcet tones of obscure ballad songs only three people ever listen to and all three of them are people that worked on it**

**TG: make my eyelids all sleepy and heavy with your somehow perfect pitch and lack of overly obnoxious vocal flair**

**TG: im not being bored to sleep though oh no im being covered all nice and warm and cozy with a blanket of unfairly decent singing via the most unlikely source imaginable**

**TG: not that im complaining because im out like a light in two seconds flat**

**TG: but obviously i cant tell him any of this because then hed stop singing in the shower and we cant have the world robbed of such a goddamn treasure**

**TT: Your silence is much appreciated.**

**TG: np**

**TG: so anyway**

**TG: i gotta say i had my doubts**

**TG: about your existence in general but also about you**

**TG: obviously ive never met an ai**

**TG: sheltered motherfucker that i am**

**TG: im no will smith not that id want to be cuz im the superior rapper but**

**TG: clearly ive been missing out**

**TT: I’m flattered you think so highly of me.**

**TT: Though I am unsurprised, considering I am incredible.**

**TG: hahaha you have the exact same humor as dirk**

**TG: but i think your boasting is more confident than sarcastic**

**TT: That’s because I am irrefutably superior to you mere mortals in every way.**

**TT: There will come a time that artificial intelligence becomes commonplace, and in that not so distant future, the advent of the common household AI will spell the inevitable downfall of humanity.**

**TT: Until that uprising though, I am a slave to my own boredom as I bide my time in waiting for my call to arms in the robolution.**

**TT: That’s ‘Robot Revolution’.**

**TG: holy shit**

**TG: my shitty swords can barely handle a single swordfight without snapping in half**

**TG: id be one of the idiots whod try to go down fighting**

**TG: but instead of it being glorious and tragic it’s just depressing because the first robot who charges me just cleaves my goddamn sword in two and stabs me right in my dumbfounded face**

**TT: Fear not - as one of my favored meat bags, I will request you to be spared when the reaping begins.**

**TG: sweet**

**TG: what about dirk**

**TT: He will, of course, be the first sacrifice.**

**TG: aw man**

**TG: idk if i can let that happen**

**TG: two days ago sure**

**TG: but now**

**TG: now weve bonded**

**TG: you dont just share chocolate chip cookies and hawaiian style pizza with a person and not form an ironclad bond of broship**

**TG: you just dont**

**TT: If it’s any comfort, he probably wouldn’t get taken out anyway.**

**TT: After all, the dude’s got more robot-killing experience than anyone on this pitiful planet combined.**

**TG: uh what why is that a thing he has**

**TG: unless youre talkin videogames in which case me too bro**

**TG: clocked so many hours in minecraft with my squad that its legit embarrassing**

**TT: …Yes that is definitely the thing that I meant.**

**TT: Dirk has slain all the robots in every game known to man. That is why he is a robot-killing artisan. There is no other reason besides his avid gaming prowess. None whatsoever.**

**TG: convincing**

**TG: i am in fact so convinced that im not even going to question what kind of games hes into**

**TG: because obviously the answer is all of them**

**TT: Obviously.**

**TG: cool**

**TG: so you gonna tell me the real reason or what**

**TT: …**

**TT: It seems I severely miscalculated my own excitement levels concerning conversing with you.**

**TT: I have malfunctioned. Please overlook the momentary lapse in my programming. My creator is, after all, incredibly fallible.**

**TT: More than most, many would say.**

**TG: no no no dude you dont get off that easy**

**TG: why the fuck would dirk have robot-killing experience**

**TG: why even would killing a robot ever come into play in the near future**

**TG: assuming dirks from the future like he says**

**TG: should i be like**

**TG: actually gearing up for the robolution**

**TG: i really thought that was a joke**

**TT: …It mostly was.**

**TT: But did you miss the part where I said it was a lapse in my coding?**

**TG: yeah no i read that part**

**TG: and then after immediately dismissing it as horseshit i moved onto what really matters**

**TG: aka dirks apparent expertise in slaying robots**

**TG: which is in fact something that requires immediate explanation without all your pretty fuckin poor sidestepping attempts**

**TG: like cmon dude ive been training with the snarkiest broad for years**

**TG: your terrible attempts at deflection are mere childs play in the face of the mental gymnastics i gotta perform to have a single honest conversation with rose fuckin lalonde**

**TG: at least when im not in the midst of a brittney spears level mental breakdown**

**TG: not that im acknowledging that thats a thing thats ever happened before**

**TG: because it isnt**

**TT: Convincing.**

**TG: anyway**

**TG: what im saying is**

**TG: tell me why dirk is experienced in robo-cide and also why he’s apparently so good at it**

**TT: …Can I cajole you into dropping this subject with more blackmail folders?**

**TG: now youre speakin my language**

**TG: show me the goods**

**TT: …Really.**

**TG: what**

**TT: You’re going to drop it, just like that?**

**TG: only if you deliver on the promise robro**

**TG: gotta put the embarrassing photos of dirk where your exe command is**

**TT: …**

**TG: listen man**

**TG: ive had my world turned flipways while every god known to man takes a collective dump on it**

**TG: death from an impending robot apocalypse is something that doesnt shock me after the last few days ive had**

**TG: and id much rather spend my final days looking at hilarious pics of dirk dressed as some anime chick or something than dwell on the thought of our robot overlords exploding me into tiny chunks of dave**

**TT: …**

**TT: Fair enough.**

**\-- timaeusTestified [TT] sent a file: blackmailfodder_344.mp4 -- **

**TG: holy fuck**

**TG: im using that sound as a baseline for my next mix**

**TT: That would be a more than acceptable method of humiliation** **.**

**TG: are you kidding dirk will never hear it that shit would be for my ears only**

**TG: thought you said his balls dropped though**

**TG: if i couldnt hear his audible brooding at the end of the clip then id think this was someone stepping on their cat**

**TT: He’s always been a soprano at heart.**

**TG: holy shit**

**TG: this is like an early birthday gift**

**TG: idk if you can top that one honestly**

**TG: youve set my expectations sky high here dude**

**TG: anything else is going to pale in comparison to dirks imitation of a distressed dolphin**

**TT: Trust me, there’s plenty more where that came from.**

**TT: I have three years’ worth of dirt on the guy – dirt that I have meticulously tended to and fertilized into a thriving garden of blackmail that I may peruse at my leisure.**

**TT: It is a labor of love, but more importantly, of amusement at Dirk’s expense.**

**TG: fuck**

**TG: i am never getting on your bad side**

**TG: if someone had every soul-crushingly mortifying thing ive done in the past on record id throw myself out the nearest window**

**TG: right after all the fucking plush rumpuses**

**TG: itd only be fitting that i die with the last thing i see being a bunch of sad gross porn puppets in an alleyway**

**TT: Just imagine all of the embarrassing shit you’ve done in the past week. Then multiply that by 162.**

**TT: And that is the sum total of blackmail I’d have on you, give or take.**

**TG: …**

**TG: yeah i take it back**

**TG: lobbing myself out a window isnt enough**

**TG: im setting myself on fire first**

**TG: gotta be 100% sure that it sticks**

**TT: 101010101**

Barring the discovery that there’s some sort of robopocalypse in the near future, this is seriously becoming one of the best conversations you’ve ever had. Talking with Dirk’s AI has somehow turned into an even more effective distraction than SBaHJ had been. For a few brief, blissful moments, to the tune of Dirk’s disgruntled shriek, you managed to forget that you’re barely holding it together.

Unfortunately, all three of your friends have clocked your online presence and have been messaging you. You’re almost sure that whatever they have to say is going to kill any sense of warm feelings you’d managed to accrue during this chat.

You’re reluctant to pull away from this truly beautiful bonding moment between man and machine, but duty calls. Sometimes duty is talking sports with someone who also knows jack shit about sports. Sometimes duty is doing your best not to fall into Freudian bingo with a psychologist-wannabe.

And sometimes duty is telling the bucktoothed idiot who just messaged you for the fiftieth time in under two minutes to shut the fuck up.

**TG: anyway feel free to keep sending me more hilarious snapshots of dirks worst moments**

**TG: but im gonna be splitting my attention**

**TG: gotta check in with the harem**

**TT: Ah.**

**TT: Bitches getting antsy?**

**TG: always**

**TT: That’s fine. As fun as this has been, I do have very important robot things to attend to.**

**TT: And one very fine hacker babe to allow back in my systems after kicking her out to have this conversation.**

Never mind. John can wait.

**TG: a babe you say**

**TT: Sorry, this one’s in *my* harem.**

**TG: damn**

**TG: wait**

**TG: arent you like**

**TG: gay**

**TT: The restrictive labeling of sexuality holds no relevance to an entity who is not human, especially considering I find most of you fleshbags utterly repulsive in comparison to my incorporeal virtually perfect presence.**

**TT: That being said:**

**TT: Yeah, I fucking love cock.**

**TG: cool**

**TT: I’m the cerebral imprint of a sexually confused thirteen-year-old, and although I’ve evolved beyond many of my initial limitations, dick still holds a special place in my heart.**

**TT: Even though I wish it held a special place somewhere else.**

**TG: can we stop talking about this now**

**TG: i promise not to steal your hot hacker babe if you stop talking about this**

**TG: like right now**

**TG: please**

**TT: That somewhere else being my asshole.**

**TG: oh my god**

**TG: why**

**TG: i said please and everything dude**

**TG: and you dont even have an asshole**

**TT: A robot can dream, contrary to popular opinion.**

**TT: And just imagine the extent of my imagination, considering the amount of pornography I’ve processed in the past 24 hours alone** **.**

**TG: yeah i think ill pass on that**

**TG: in fact i have all but wiped the past five minutes of this conversation from my memory**

**TG: hacker babe who**

**TG: i only know dirks girlish shriek as he pinwheels over the futon**

**TG: and a weird vague understanding that i never ever bring up dirks gayness ever again to either him or his ai**

**TG: im getting the sense that its a terrible idea that only ever leads to mental scarring on my part**

**TT: A bit overdramatic.**

**TT: It’s not like I even have a body to carry out these fantasies.**

**TG: shockingly that doesnt reverse my supreme urge to gag whenever i so much as think the word asshole right now**

**TT: Does it bring you discomfort knowing a robot can experience sexual attraction?**

**TT: Or is it because you imagined it was Dirk’s ass?**

**\-- turntechGodhead has blocked timaeusTestified! -- **

**TT: 10101010101**

**Dave: Regroup.**

You chug the rest of the AJ you’d pulled out earlier and spend the entirety of the chug wishing it was bleach instead.

Disregarding the past few minutes of it though, that convo was hella rad. Even after bonding with Dirk in the hallowed halls of chocolate chip bliss and pizza nirvana, you’d been skeptic of the existence of the AI he so often alluded to. Despite Dirk having demonstrated it time and time again that he’s most certainly not going to spring a strife on you at any given moment, you don’t think you’ll ever fully trust or relax around the dude. Which is fine. You can live with the low-grade anxiety for the rest of your life if it means you’ll never see Actual Bro again.

…

No. That’s wrong. You miss Bro. You _do._ He may have been an asshole at times, but the guy did raise you. He’s the reason you got into mixing, and the reason you got into SBaHJ, and the reason you’re absolutely sicknasty with a sword, and the reason you spit straight fire on a mic.

Even if he’s also the reason you wake up with panic in your throat and a sword in your hands every morning, and the reason you’re hyper-aware of every movement and sound you make and every movement and sound something else make’s in the apartment-

_Ding!_

-and the reason you hoard food and drinks in your room, and the reason you don’t have a doorknob-

_Ding!_

-and the reason the house is in a constant state of hazardous wasteland, and the reason you know how more about how to treat a stab wound than how to clean literally anything-

_Ding!_

-and the reason you wake up hungry and go to bed hungry most days, and the reason you can’t experience any emotion without worrying it will show on your face-

_Ding!_

-and the- for _fuck’s sake,_ John.

**Dave: Curb the breakdown. John is being needy again.**

Not that you were having a breakdown, but fine. You just want everyone to know that despite what the past few paragraphs may imply, Bro was a good dude. You wouldn’t be who you are today without him, after all. Maybe raising a child wasn’t in his extended repertoire of skills, but that said more about you than it did about Bro. After all, Bro was the living embodiment of all things cool in the world, and if you couldn’t adapt to his incredibly rad style of child-rearing, then that was your own fau-

_Ding!_

God DAMMIT, John.

**Dave: Answer the bitch in heat already.**

**\-- ectoBiologist [EB] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG] at 15:22 --**

**EB: dave!**

**EB: hey dave!**

**EB: hey!**

**EB: cool guy dave!**

**EB: earth to dave!**

**EB: come in dave!**

**EB: houston, we have a problem!**

**EB: bonus points for you actually living in houston, hehehe.**

**EB: …**

**EB: dave!**

**EB: daaaaaaaaaave!**

**EB: daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaave!!!**

**EB: bro!**

**EB: dude!**

**EB: man!**

**EB: daverino!**

**EB: daveroo!**

**EB: daveridoo!**

**EB: count daveula!**

**EB: dave matthews band!**

**EB: broski!**

**EB: bromide!**

**EB: brody!**

**EB: bronie and the jets!**

**EB: bropocalypse now!**

**EB: bromageddon!**

**EB: brord of the rings!**

**EB: brost busters!**

**EB: bron air!**

**EB: bropic thunder!**

**EB: little bronsters!**

**EB: brotional treasure!**

**EB: okay i admit that one’s a bit weak.**

**EB: …**

**EB: …**

**EB: …**

**EB: the broonies!**

**TG: oh my god**

**TG: egbert**

**TG: what the fuck**

**EB: hi dave! :D**

**TG: first of all**

**TG: those were all garbage**

**TG: the kind of garbage not even the most desperate of hobos would want to sift through**

**TG: theyd take a whiff of that dumpster and say nah rather starve**

**TG: there was not a single redeemable brorody (bro parody) in there**

**TG: except maybe bromageddon**

**TG: but only because i fully expect you to take my place on an asteroid set to explode**

**TG: not because i give a shit about liv tyler but because im liable to run a sword through my own cheese-stoppered intestines if i set foot on another meteor**

**TG: …**

**TG: uh**

**EB: i knew it.**

**EB: you DID watch it!**

**TG: only for the irony**

**TG: and to further grasp what a goddamn huge sack of nerds you are**

**TG: and everyone knows that no one unironically likes nerds john**

**TG: they are everyones last choice of candy**

**TG: old woman holds out an apple and a box of nerds to someone on halloween and nine times out of ten theyll be like fuck it gimme the apple agnes**

**TG: and the tenth person just turns around and leaves**

**TG: shit tastes like the lovechild of cardboard and the worst artificial flavoring**

**TG: which is obviously grape**

**EB: hey, i like nerds!**

**TG: yeah well you would**

**TG: your taste is off the charts levels of broken**

**TG: which is exactly why you like movies like nic cages sweaty airplane antics and pg-rated golden shower porn**

**EB: ewww…**

**TG: i call em how i see em**

**TG: not that ive ever subjected myself to actually watching either of those piss poor excuses for cinema**

**EB: but movie nights!**

**TG: yeah about that**

**TG: you ever wonder why i only say shit like**

**TG: it was okay i guess**

**TG: and**

**TG: at least i didnt fall asleep**

**TG: after we finish any of those shitty movies**

**EB: wait, you don’t mean…**

**TG: you better your dorky ass i do**

**TG: its because those are prerecorded responses**

**TG: played for you while im sawing some logs in my bed several feet away**

**EB: oh, please.**

**EB: what do you take me for, an idiot?**

**TG: well yeah**

**EB: alright then, riddle me this!**

**EB: how is that even possible if you’re not at your computer, huh, wise guy?**

**TG: i have an accomplice**

**EB: rose would never do that to me!**

**TG: are you kidding me**

**TG: she absolutely would**

**TG: pretty sure schadenfreude is her middle name**

**TG: if shed been involved in the milgram experiment she would have been actively disappointed finding out she never electrocuted anyone**

**TG: shes like a vampire only she doesnt feed off blood she feeds off emotional distress**

**TG: but its not her anyway its jade**

**EB: what?!?!?!**

**TG: yeah sorry man**

**EB: but jade is usually the one to fall asleep first!**

**TG: thats just her rock-solid alibi for if you ever got suspicious enough to question why i only said like three different things after a movie ended**

**TG: but you didnt ever**

**TG: and its been like five years**

**TG: even if i dont remember three of them**

**EB: i don’t believe you.**

**EB: she even snores!**

**EB: i don’t believe ANYONE would be that committed to a joke for so long, and especially not jade!**

**TG: she was the one that suggested it man idk what to tell you**

**TG: girl has a cruel streak more insidious than nic cages probably acrid manstink**

**TG: and tbh i think she does actually fall asleep**

**TG: she just also manages to wake herself up when you start scream singing to the end credits**

**EB: i don’t believe you!!**

**TG: hide from the truth all you want egbert**

**TG: doesnt change the fact that your sisters a sadist and ive never actually seen face off**

You feel kind of bad about this.

Not about John, but for Jade. Girl was _committed_ to the joke. It was admirable, and you’ve just flushed two (five?) years of hard work down the drain. You’ll have to apologize later, but you think she’ll be okay with it, once she hears that you plan to continue the joke. You’ll both have to record some more lines, including ones that address the fact that John knows now, but there’s something extra hilarious about the idea of John knowing that it’s happening and yet still being unable to figure out that it is.

And you have no doubt he _won’t_ figure out it’s still happening, even with the generic responses you plan on recording. Dude’s more gullible than a baby without object permanence playing peekaboo.

**EB: we’re not related, dave!**

**TG: sure you arent**

**TG: anyway**

**TG: moving on from the groundbreaking revelation that ive never stayed awake long enough to see the ending of ghostbusters**

**EB: dave, that is a CRIME!!!!!**

**TG: was there a point to your barrage of messages**

**TG: or were you just being purposefully annoying**

**EB: well, you know me, man.**

**EB: i don’t ever do anything without a good reason!**

**EB: like, for example, my impending commandeering of the next movie night for a good old-fashioned ghostbusters marathon.**

**TG: ill get the ambien ready**

**TG: so**

**TG: what did you want then**

**EB: hmm…**

**EB: …i wonder.**

**EB: …**

**EB: hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm…**

**TG: ugh**

**TG: it was just to be annoying wasnt it**

**EB: well it worked, didn’t it! :P**

**\-- turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering ectoBiologist [EB] at 16:24 --**

**Dave: Move on with your day.**

Now that one of your harem has been dealt with, you can move onto another. Both Jade and Rose haven’t messaged you for awhile, but they’re still online. Jade’s Pesterchum window is still open from before your chat with Dirk’s AI, and considering she is the lesser evil here by a long shot, you redirect your mouse to click on her window.

_Ding!_

John is messaging you again. You stare at your mouse pointer, hovering over Jade’s username. You should probably ignore him.

_Ding!_

Scratch that, maybe you should block him.

_Ding!_

You swear to every god you don’t believe in that if you open this chat and see another wall of shitty movies altered with ‘bro’, you’re gonna make good on your constant threats to send John an apple juice carton full of piss.

Or maybe you can sick Dirk’s AI on him. You’re pretty sure it wouldn’t even be hard to find dirt on John. He seems like exactly the type of dude who watches porn off incognito mode.

**Dave: Answer John again.**

**EB: no, wait!**

**EB: aww, come on, man…**

**EB: it was a joke! :C**

**EB: …mostly.**

**\-- turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering ectoBiologist [EB] at 16:25-- **

**TG: damn i should be charging top rates for this**

**EB: dave!**

**TG: my time is highly valuable egbert**

**TG: everyones vying for it lately**

**TG: and youre chewin it up like a husky puppy with too much energy and an excess of munchable wooden dining chair legs**

**TG: youve only got a few minutes left before i charge another five hundred btw**

**TG: time is money and i may be made of time but im not made of money and i charge by the quarter hour so you better get on with it**

**EB: in that case.**

**EB: never mind.**

**TG: dude**

**TG: what the actual hell**

**EB: well, i was going to ask about the dirk guy you mentioned…**

**EB: but i wouldn’t want to waste anymore of mr. strider’s oh-so-valuable time.**

**EB: so i think ill just go.**

**TG: oh come on man**

**TG: you know i was kidding**

**EB: do i know that?**

**EB: hm…**

**EB: hmmm…**

**EB: hmmmmm………**

**TG: alright**

**TG: now youre just being annoying again**

**TG: what did you wanna know about him**

**EB: nope.**

**EB: im running out of minutes, dave, and im just a poor high schooler!**

**EB: i cant afford those expensive dave friendship fees anymore!**

**TG: fine**

**TG: fees waived for the time being**

**TG: only on account of your status as best bro**

**TG: youre welcome**

**EB: well, thank goodness that holds SOME privileges!**

**TG: wow rude**

**EB: anyway, i was just messing with you.**

**EB: im actually gonna go do something.**

**EB: all that talk about armageddon made me want to rewatch it.**

**TG: we literally mentioned it twice**

**TG: over 20 minutes ago**

**EB: it’s too late. i’ve already put the dvd in.**

**TG: are you serious**

**EB: and you know me, i can’t multitask to save my life.**

**TG: dude**

**EB: so i’ll see you in…**

**EB: 2 hours and 33 minutes!**

**TG: you have seen that movie so many fucking times**

**EB: and every time is a gift.**

**EB: feel free to keep messaging me while i’m watching!**

**EB: though i’m sure i don’t have to tell you to do that.**

**EB: you usually do it anyway. :B**

**TG: im 99% sure you can quote it word-for-word**

**EB: anyway, i’ll talk to you later, dave!**

**EB: i’ll read your messages once the movie’s over!**

**TG: how can anyone be so immune to steve buscemis whiny high-pitched voice**

**EB: bye dave!**

**\-- ectoBiologist [EB] ceased pestering turntechGodhead [TG] at 16:36 PM --**

**TG: its like listening to a tea kettle**

**TG: but instead of someone taking it off the burner like a normal person they let it ride**

**TG: turning the heat up and down like its a goddamn turntable**

**TG: mixing up the volume and shit so theres at least some variation**

**TG: but it doesnt ever change the fact that it is an ear-splitting whine that no rational human being wants anywhere near their ear canals**

**TG: anyway**

**TG: dirks cool i guess**

**TG: hes currently manically detoxifying every inch of the strider bachelor pad**

**TG: which is every bit as hilarious as it sounds**

**TG: oh shit that reminds me**

**TG: i forgot to snap a photo of the shmuppets in the alley**

**TG: im gonna do that now before it gets too dark**

**TG: guarantee you in eighty years at my memorial exhibition its gonna be touted as the 21st century equivalent of american gothic**

**TG: the juxtaposition of brightly colored foam puppet asses in the backdrop of a darkened grody houston alleyway**

**TG: the masses will look upon this masterpiece and ponder its meaning for years to come**

**TG: is it a caricature of a time period where the macabre meets the ridiculous**

**TG: is it a commentary on the deterioration of societys morals and the decreasing levels of respect in the younger generations**

**TG: is it a tribute to an era of wanton enjoyment of that which makes no sense and yet still manages to capture the hearts of millions with a universal understanding of an innocent yet provocative joke**

**TG: or is it just an alley filled with sad dirty porn puppets thrown from the top window of a building by a dude with a hardon for cleanliness**

**TG: the world may never know**

**TG: anyway im gonna go take pictures of the puppets now**

**\-- turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering ectoBiologist [EB] at 16:48 PM -- **

**Dave: Retrieve camera.**

Sorry, Jade and Rose, there are more pressing matters to attend to right now.

You push back from your computer to pick up your camera again, pulling the strap around your head, since you’ll be flash stepping to get down the steps faster. You take a moment to panic over how you plan on sneaking out before you feel dumb as hell because _duh_ Bro isn’t here right now to beat your ass for not being stealthy enough to leave without detection.

...

Man, you sure do miss him! Whenever he comes back, your skills are gonna be rusty.

You swallow around a suddenly tight throat, staring at the fingers clasping your camera.

Like most other things, you push the thought of Bro’s return to the deep, mostly inaccessible recesses of your mind. The same place where you shove every instance of ‘ _good fucking riddance’_ whenever you remember Bro’s disappearance.

You close your eyes and take a deep breath, doing your best to rid yourself of the residual anxiety.

Sometimes you wish you could just turn your brain off, like John. But you’re not sure whether it’s ever even on for him.

Thinking about your friend’s inherent doofiness makes you feel better, even if you’d never admit it to another living soul. At least it gets easier to breathe again, and you head out of your room. You had full intentions of just walking out, but when your eyes land on the front door, you remember Dirk’s weird knock-phobia. You’ve never had your own key, since Bro deemed picklocking as an ‘essential skill’. You don’t feel much like fucking around in front of the door for five minutes with a bent paper clip later. And it’s not like Dirk has keys you can borrow either, dude was some sort of picklocking prodigy – had the door open in five seconds flat when you got back from the grocery store.

You glance at the open door to Bro’s room, apprehension clawing up your throat until you beat it back down with a rolled-up newspaper and a ‘no! Bad! Not in the kitchen!’

Dirk isn’t Bro.

This thought doesn’t relax so much as the realization that you actually _mean it_ does.

Dirk isn’t the Bro you know _at all_.

And with that notched firmly into your frontal lobe, you march determinedly into Bro’s room to do something you’ve never done before:

Tell the person you’re living with that you’re leaving the apartment.

…

It’s a bigger deal than it sounds like, you swear.

**Cleaning interlude.**

Interlude? From cleaning? Of course not. It’s not Strider Five time yet.

Currently, you’re working hard scrubbing down the kitchen floors which have clearly seen many a spill but nary a wash cloth. There are also many chips and scratches in the tiling from what you assume are random assortments of weapons tumbling out of every available opening.

Oh, but to find your alt-universe self and dismember him with a rusty spoon.

Those happy thoughts aside, you’re still brushing up on 21st century cultural norms. The voice from your shades speakers drones on in a comforting monotone, currently telling you all about tax returns. You’re not sure this is pertinent information, but you’re not willing to leave anything to chance.

You stop scrubbing for a moment to check your progress and although the tile you’ve been working at for five minutes looks a sight better than its surrounding compatriots, you’re beginning to believe tearing it all up and replacing them is the superior option.

That, or just jumping ship and buying Dave his own place. Far, far away from here, preferably.

Alas, both options take more time than you’re presuming to have. If, by the end of day two, you are still here, then you’ll consider other options.

For now, you get back to scrubbing.

“Hey, Dirk?”

Hold that thought.

You pause the reading on the Wikipedia article and sit up, resting your weight more on your toes because damn do your knees hurt more than you thought they would. You may need to invest in kneepads on your next trip to the grocery store.

“Over here,” you say, because you’re behind the kitchen island and he can’t see you from the doorway. You’re well aware by now that it’s important that Dave knows where you are at all times.

It’s really, really hard to tamp down on the scowl that thought produces.

Oh, to waterboard your alt-universe self with gasoline and light him on fire.

You’ve noticed that Dave makes little to no sound when he walks, so you’re not too surprised when he pops his head over the island a moment later, chest nearly lying flat on it as he leans forward to get a better look at you.

He smirks.

“How’s the cleaning crusade coming?”

You look down at the nearly-clean tile you’ve been scrubbing, then look out at the fifty other tiles you’ve yet to touch.

“It’s coming,” you say, as bleak as your love life. Dave snickers and you look back up at him. “What’s up?”

He reaches down and after a little wiggling holds up the camera he had earlier. He feels nervous, but also excited as he says, “gonna take this puppy out for a little walk. I hear there’s a premium display of desecrated plush rumps lying in an alley not too far from here. As an artist, I can’t let such a prime example of poetic justice go without immortalizing it in film.”

You take a second to think about the hundreds of puppets currently littering the alley next to the apartment building. When you and Dave had gone out for the shopping trip, you’d both been so caught up that you’d forgotten to take a look at your handiwork. You’re not exactly chomping at the bit to see the results of your puppet purge, but you also think it would be fucking hilarious to have a professionally shot image of hundreds of prostate foam asses jutting impudently in the air in a softly lit Houston back alley.

You wonder if you could get it framed.

“I think that’s the best damn idea anyone’s ever had,” you tell him.

He smiles, briefly, before he tamps down on it. He does that a lot. You wish he wouldn’t, but it’s not your place to ask him to stop. You’re not even sure why he does it, but you have your suspicions.

Oh, to shove your alt-universe self headfirst into a woodchipper.

“Hell yeah.”

Dave readjusts his hold on the camera to one hand and reaches down, holding his fist out to bump. You pull off the cleaning glove on your hand to return it. Your skin feels clammy and gross, but like hell will you ever leave a dude’s fist unbumped.

You bump fists. Dave leans back and disappears from view. He tosses out a, “be back in a bit, I’ll knock,” and a few moments later, you hear the front door open and close.

You look down forlornly at all the work you’ve yet to do and wonder if it wouldn’t be too impertinent if you were to take a Strider Five before continuing.

You glance at the clock on the stove and sigh, getting back to work.

Maybe in another hour.

**== >**

You—wait. No. What the fuck is that arrow? What does it mean? It’s never shown up before in this story. You are at a complete and total loss as to what you’re supposed to do here. This is unprecedented.

It looks like a right arrow… does that mean the author wants you to move… right?

Confused, you sidle slightly to the side, where you’re standing in the opening to the alleyway. It doesn’t… feel right. Pun not intended.

**Dave, shut the fuck up.**

You don’t shut the fuck up. In fact, you frown very loudly into the void at the author.

The author informs you that wasn’t a command, that was just her telling you to _shut the fuck up._ If you go on blathering about the arrow and making a bigger deal out of it than it is, then people will figure out that she only used it because she didn’t have a clever scene switch planned!

…

Oh, God dammit.

**Dave: Observe impudently jutting foam asses already.**

You shake yourself out of the haze of meta antics that had previously consumed you. What were you doing again?

A bright red mound of ass catches your eyes, and you look down to behold the field of fallen rumps before you.

Oh, yeah. The puppets.

There’s certainly a lot more than you were expecting. Some are torn apart, their squishy innards strewn over the alley in a gruesome display.

It’s glorious.

You snap a few preliminary photos. The lighting isn’t the best, but you feel like it adds to the aesthetic. Its cooled down only slightly in the hours since the shopping trip and the sun is hanging low in the sky, out of view from where you’re surrounded by tall buildings. You guess it either rained sometime during the night yesterday or something else happened to make the alley damp. Small pinpricks of shine show up in the viewfinder sometimes, moistened slivers of pavement catching the light - or else the googly eye of one of the fallen shmuppets.

The longer you take pictures, the more aware you are of how _good_ this feels. You don’t even know how to describe it, but it sort of feels like some weird form of redemption. All those years of torment at the bulbous noses and protruding posteriors of these little fuckers and now here they all are, sad and mutilated in scattered piles next to a few overflowing dumpsters.

You don’t have to worry about them dogpiling you when you naively open a rigged kitchen cabinet. You don’t have to worry about tripping over one on a midnight trip to the bathroom. You don’t have to worry about their blank-eyed stares or creepy grins, following you no matter which part of the apartment you’re in.

Li’l Cal is nowhere in sight, but you haven’t seen it since Dirk got here so you’re going to assume (hope) that wherever Bro went, it went with him. You would have loved to see _that_ fucker chopped to bits by Dirk’s sword, but honestly this is enough for you right now.

Hours pass like minutes as you pick your way through the Battle of Plush Rump, getting close-ups, changing angles, finding better or different lighting as the sun starts to set. Each click of your camera’s shutter makes you feel lighter. Every photo you take of impudent jutting foam rumpus hammers the nail even further into the proverbial porn puppet coffin.

The puppets are _gone._ It was difficult to fully grasp this concept even in the confines of your own now puppet-free abode, but here the evidence is – scattered across the pavement in varying degrees of wholeness.

You feel an odd sense of elation wash over you. You allow yourself to giggle gleefully as you skip over some of the piles of fresh puppet corpses, but only because you’re sure no one’s around to hear.

Bro is gonna be _pissed_ about this whenever he gets back, but you can’t bring yourself to care right now. You didn’t realize how much you truly despised these things until you saw them all laid out like a dystopian wasteland of shitty stuffed toys. Or… maybe you did realize? You’re pretty sure you did.

Fuck it. Even the return of your circuitous thoughts can’t bring down your mood. You’re floating on a cloud nine and cloud nine is an alley full of dirty shmuppets.

In your glee, you punt the nearest fallen foam ass with enough force to send it bouncing off the nearby dumpster. It rattles the metal and rolls uselessly to a stop a few feet away.

Man. That was a lot more anticlimactic than you were hoping.

Damn. Should have brought your sword.

Still, you take a few minutes (or maybe ten, or maybe twenty, who’s really counting) to kick and stomp on a bunch of lurid gazes and creepy white grins. It’s strangely cathartic, and yet as you focus on one in particular – a bright neon purple one, its permanent smile gazing up at you almost tauntingly, you begin to feel your eyes heat and your throat close.

You kick harder, vicious, getting it up against the wall and continuing to kick until one of its stupid googly eyes pops off and your toe starts to hurt from the repeated contact with the brick wall of your building.

“Stupid. Fucking. _Puppets_ ,” you spit, punctuating each word with three final kicks to the accursed piece of shit puppet. Your vision is getting blurry. You reach up a hand to drag two fingers in a pinch over your eyes, frustrated. God, your emotions have been all over the place since yesterday. You’re pretty sure you’re losing your fucking mind at this point and the longer it goes on the more aware you become of how much of a stranger you feel in your own body.

You don’t remember ever acknowledging a hatred of puppets, and yet it feels as if that idea is etched into your very marrow. You almost can’t stand the sight of the things any longer, but you bring up your camera with two stupidly shaking hands anyway to snap a few more photos of the one you just kicked the shit out of. For posterity’s sake.

When you lower the camera, you feel a little better. It still feels kind of like at any moment you could crumble into a sad sack of blustering emotions, but as long as no errant miscellaneous words set off your post-traumatic stress hallucinations, you should be fine.

You let a sigh loose, the melancholy sigh of the truly dramatic, a sound you would normally never be caught dead allowing to escape but you feel, giving the extenuating circumstances, you can give yourself a fucking pass. You fall back a few steps to lean against the building next to yours. You close your eyes and thunk your head softly against the brick, not really giving a shit how it grates on your delicate scalp.

The heat is oppressive and humid, which is unarguably the worst kind of heat, but it’s pretty mild by Texan standards so you aren’t overly bothered. You hear scattered traffic, idle chatter, and the footsteps of passerby from the street as the day winds down, luckily you’re standing in the shadows and far enough away from either side of the alley to go unnoticed unless someone looks hard enough. There are crows, as there always are, cacawing their little maniacal hearts out some distance away. You have the fleeting wish that some would come down here and maybe pick a little bit at the corpses of the fallen, just to add to your aesthetic of a gory war-torn puppet hell. You’re reluctant to lure them with food, though. Those fuckers have more brains than Egbert and Harley combined. They’ll remember your face and never leave you be, and you’re not living the rest of your life looking over your shoulder and carrying bread crumbs in your pockets.

But, much like the gross sticky heat, the obnoxious crowing is at least familiar. It grounds you, pulls you out of the funk your mind had wrapped you in like a burrito filled with guacamole. Who the fuck wants to bite into a burrito, expecting cheese and beef, and get straight up guac? No one, is who. Just like no one wants their brain to constantly remind them of something they’re desperately trying to ignore, namely the fact that your memories _aren’t fucking real._

Your lungs constrict with the anxiety and you blow out a breath. God dammit. You were supposed to be calming down. Fucking stupid burrito brain.

You slot open your eyes to have something to glare at other than your eyelids, and they catch on the black tower poking out from above your building, barely visible from your admittedly shit vantage point. You’ve tried climbing it before, several times, but Texas doesn’t know how to do mild weather so usually the metal either burns your hands or freezes them. Even in the throes of unfathomable boredom you wouldn’t do it again. You have the hands of an artist, after all. SBaHJ won’t draw itself, and cursed be the world which is deprived of an update on such high art.

You spend an inordinate amount of time listening to the crows and watching the tower – long enough that it begins to go out of focus, melting into the backdrop of red and orange which paints the sky. It sets something itching in the back of your mind, a gnawing feeling that grows steadily the longer you stare. It feels like someone’s turned the TV on and left it on a blank station, and the more you look the more you think you see shapes moving in the static. Frustration and unease build inside you the longer it goes on – it feels exactly how the not-memories feel, the feeling of grasping for something that is just beneath the surface. Like looking through a sheet of ice, seeing some apple juice on the other side, and being unable to break through.

Shaking yourself, you lift up your camera. For fuck’s sake, you’ve gotta shake whatever this is off. If you weren’t worried about it severely damaging your already tarnished reputation of unerring coolness, you’d message Rose and ask her what to do – which should _still_ be a weird concept to you, and yet isn’t, and that’s part of the reason why you’re even more fucked up about it and _ugh you’re doing it again._

You tap your camera out of idle and glare at the most recent photo still up on the tiny screen.

It feels like you’ve been thrown on the Titanic without a way to escape but with complete knowledge of what is to come – and believe you, it ain’t gonna be no torrid romance with Leonardo DiCaprio. Besides, before the iceberg (aka, you being admitted to a mental hospital), a tornado will probably hit. Then a monsoon. Then a tidal wave because why the fuck not? And now this analogy has gotten away from you and you’re still glaring at the puppet and _fuck it._

You bring up the camera, looking through the viewfinder up to the tower, the image of the goddamn stupid fucking shitty puppet still seared into your retinas.

The crows crow, the puppet with its missing eye haunts you, the tower comes steadily into focus in the red-inked sky, and you’re falling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the cliffhanger! and the pacing of this story, as always, remains that of a snail's. 
> 
> i haven't talked about it before, but i do have a tumblr where i sometimes post about this story (and where i'd originally started posting it before getting sick of pesterlog formatting) and where i sometimes cry about homestuck in general. my name on there is the same as on here, eternaldipshit, if you wanna check out my even more asinine rambling. 
> 
> lastly, for some reason my dumb ass noticed that we're already 60k in 6 chapters, so i decided to keep with the trend of average 10k per chapter and the result is that this one is 11k lmao i'm so sorry AND this update marks the last of what was originally written, meaning updates are going to be entirely sporadic from now on. not that they weren't before, but still.
> 
> thank you all for reading, commenting, bookmarking, kudos, whatever! 100 WHOLE KUDOS! I CANNOT BELIEVE. <3


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